The Fall
by Starclipper01
Summary: AU. The Pretender and the government decided it's time to bring down the Centre and the evildoers running it. Crossover elements with the Profiler. Eventual JMPR.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The usual media conglomerates along with Craig and Steve own the Pretender. All characters belong to them. I don't make money off of the Pretender. This is strictly for entertainment purposes and to keep alive a wonderful series that was cancelled too early and without a resolution to all the unanswered questions fans have been asking as well as having a JMPR wrapping up the show._

Summary: AU. Post IOTH. The Pretender and the government decided it's time to bring down the Centre and the evildoers running it.

The Fall

by

Starclipper01

Chapter 1

It was Wednesday. A warm, sunny morning in Blue Cove, Delaware with a hint of summer coming soon. Miss Parker was spending another gut-churning day in the hell that was the Centre. Thinking about the upcoming meeting with her daddy, Lyle and Raines was enough to drive her body to give her another migraine and start thinking about the bottle of scotch in her desk drawer.

_Great_, she snorted, dealing with an unaffectionate father who might have deceived her for her entire life, a boogieman with a breathing problem that was her recently revealed uncle, and a psycho twin brother with an eating problem. What a family. _My family_, she despaired. How she missed her mother, who was the only one in the family that came closest to being normal, just like the people she heard her mother reading stories to her when she was a child.

There were no happy endings in her family she mused with morbid reminiscing. Momma and Tommy dead, both murdered by the Centre. Ironically by other members of her family. And, the only reason she knew that was due to Jarod's efforts to reveal the truth to her.

Jarod. Even now, almost two years after his last contact with her, the wound of his loss was still raw. Not even Tommy's death can compare to the gaping wound in her heart and soul that Jarod occupied. The one constant of her life was gone.

The few months after his last nightly phone call to her; she, Sydney, and Broots all thought he was taking a break like the other times he stopped harassing the Centre and teasing the team assigned to bring him back. But as the months went by, the concerns and worries secretly shared among the three of them became palpable. Spurred by their own concerns, as well as the pressure of the Centre's unholy trio, they combed the country, and, then the world, looking for Jarod.

Anything that even gave a hint of Jarod was pursued relentlessly but everything came to a dead end. Dreading what her feelings were leading her to, Miss Parker nevertheless ordered Broots to search all the morgues looking for a John Doe that resembled Jarod. Like everything else, this too was fruitless. Much to her relief as well as Sydney and Broots.

Where is he? she begged to an indifferent world. Please let me know that you're alright, Jarod. Please don't be dead, she silently pleaded. I need you in my life. You're the only good and thing left in my barren life.

Leaning back to lean her head against her leather chair, she closed her eyes. The migraine was going to be a bitch, knowing from past experience.

Exhaling loudly, she leaned forward to pick up her phone to inform Broots and Sydney that they should come to her office to prepare for the upcoming meeting.

Suddenly she froze, with her hand hovering over the phone, as she felt and heard explosions rocking the building. Standing up quickly, she reached behind to pull her 9mm pistol out of it holster. With her right hand holding the pistol, her left hand snaked over to where her cell phone laid on the desk.

Flipping it open one-handed, she speed-dialed the Centre security office trying to find out was happening. "What the hell's going on!" she snarled to the harried and distracted on-duty sweeper. Holding her cell phone to her ear with her left shoulder, she chambered a round into her gun with both of her hands.

"We…" the sweeper was cut off by static. Parker winced at the sound. We're being jammed, she realized.

Just as the realization came to her, the doors to her office were kicked open. She snapped her head, letting the cell phone fall to the floor, and bringing her gun up ready to shoot anyone who dared to show their face in the doorway.

But what she saw was a small round black object arcing towards her before everything exploded in blinding light and deafening noise.

As Miss Parker writhed on the floor in agony, a part of her mind noticed gloved hands flipping her roughly onto her stomach and then feeling plastic flex-ties bounding her wrists.

She was roughly hauled up to her feet and was dragged out of her office. She heard moaning in the distance, than realized that it was emanating from her. Miss Parker was terrified but, due to her Centre training and background, she hid it well. With her being temporarily blinded, Parker didn't know where she was being taken to and what was going to happen to her. Her captors were the sinister, silent type so she didn't bother asking them any questions.

The pain, which she was to discover later, came from a flash bang grenade, made her nauseous and confused. The migraine that she was nursing earlier didn't help either.

As the effects of the flash bang grenade began to fade away, Parker could hear gunshots, screams, explosions, and orders being shouted all around her. People in combat gear were pounding up and down the corridor. The chaotic situation which she was immersed in ended abruptly when she was roughly shoved against a wall. She saw that she was in her father's conference room.

"Miss Parker?"

She quickly looked over to who was calling her name. It was Broots. "Broots, are you okay?" concern coloring her voice.

Broots was touched by the concern in her voice. Usually, he cringed at her sharp, biting comments. "I-I, um, I'm okay, Miss Parker," terror making him stutter. He knew what was going on but was frightened not for himself but for Debbie. He wasn't sure if he was going to see her alive ever again. _Man, why did I took this job? I should have gone to Silicon Valley just like all my friends did and become rich but oh, no, I decided to work for an evil corporation…_

His self-pitying was interrupted as Miss Parker leaned forward from the wall and gave him a cold glare with her blue-gray eyes. "Do you know what the hell is going on, Broots?" she hissed. She was already planning an escape as she experimentally tried to get out of the flex-cuffs. _Damn, they're too tight._

Broots swallowed. The computer whiz always thought nothing could get worse than the latest secret that they found out about with, again, Jarod's help. But then there was always the next secret and it would always get worse. Now, all the secrets were coming out. "Yes," he mumbled then he faltered because he just realized that it was indeed all over.

"Spit it out, Broots. NOW!" she shouted to him as she saw that he was a million miles away. She would have also snapped her fingers in front of his face were it not for the fact that she was tied up.

"It's, it's, the government. They're raiding the Centre," he told her in a small voice.

Whatever reply that Miss Parker was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the conference room doors. She saw a couple of government agents pushing a disheveled Sydney and her father into the room. Next, came Raines who was held firmly in the grips of two other agents as they frog-marched him to the area where the rest of them were. Without his oxygen tank, she callously observed.

She couldn't resist the mild amusement that flittered through her mind as she thought the government wasn't trying very hard to keep Raines alive for his trial.

"Do you know who I am?" an outraged Mr. Parker shouted at the backs of the departing federal agents. He stalked several steps forward until he was stopped by an FBI agent, a red-haired woman Miss Parker observed, who whipped out her .40 caliber automatic pistol aimed at her father's face.

"A piece of shit," she declared in a contemptuous voice. "A dead piece of shit, if he doesn't get back to where he belongs." Mr. Parker froze; astonished that someone could talk to him like that. He was always treated deferentially by his flunkies and underlings. Now, a nobody was treating him like he treated his toadies. And, the most galling thing of all was that he had no recourse but to obey her. Swallowing his pride and rage, he stepped back to where the rest of the captives were huddled. But his eyes held promise of payback as he glared at her. The female federal agent ignored him and walked out.

"Daddy, are you okay?" inquired Miss Parker as she stepped past a weary looking Sydney. She made eye contact with the psychiatrist silently mouthing to him, "Later". She saw Syd giving a single nod before moving on to stand next to her father.

Mr. Parker looked at her. Pride, along with the resentment that came with the knowledge that she wasn't his real daughter, mingled within him. Putting on his concerned-for-his-daughter face, he told her, "I need you to be strong for me. Don't believe anything they have to say, and don't listen to any deals that they offer. Are you with me, Angel?"

A shriveling part of her was still eager to please her ever-demanding father, even though she knew he kept secrets away from her, she concurred with him. "Yes, daddy."

Her father leaned over and gave her a kiss on her forehead. "That's my Angel." Just as she was about to ask him a question of how the feds managed to stage a raid without being tipped off by the considerable number of informants that the Centre employed within the government, he stepped away from her to whisper urgently with Raines.

Sighing resentfully over his callous treatment of her again, she went over to Sydney. She gave him a gentle hug even though her arms were tied behind her. Her de-facto father returned it though it was awkward with his hands tied up too. "Are you hurt, Miss Parker," his Belgian accent becoming thicker than normal showing his concern for her.

"Peachy, Syd. Just peachy," she sarcastically answered. But the look she gave him betrayed her gratitude for his concern.

Everyone's attention was drawn to the doors as they opened again. Lyle, violently struggling against his bonds and screaming incoherently due to his mouth being duct taped, was thrown to the floor. No one moved to help him as they all watched him writhing on the floor. Again, the doors were closed.

Mr. Parker and Raines looked down at Lyle showing no emotions at all. They both saw him as a pawn that was useful until it became useless and thrown away like garbage. Miss Parker, Broots, and Sydney held a mixture of contempt and fear for the hapless figure lying on the floor. Lyle had threatened their lives in the past and knowing the hints of his extracurricular activities didn't cause them to fall over themselves to help him.

"We need to contact our people inside the government," Raines rasped. He needed his oxygen badly but was damned if he was going to beg for it. "They'll get us out of this situation and punish those who led this raid."

Mr. Parker nodded vigorously. "You damn right they will," he growled, remembering the treatment he received from that red-headed bitch. No one dared treat him that way and get to live. He smiled inwardly as the thought of how he was going to welcome her to the Centre's renewal wing and all its amenities.

Sydney saw the smile on Mr. Parker's face and shudder. He saw that smile several times before and always wished that he never see it again ever. A part of him was relieved that Mr. Parker and Raines won't be able to carry out any more of their sick and twisted plots now that the government was shutting the Centre down. But another part of him worried that those two sickos would find another way to slither out of the trap that they found themselves in. But most of all he worried what would happen to his two friends.

Broots, the savvy computer technician, was the least guilty of them. Perhaps, with the statement that he will make to the authorities Broots will be able to walk away from this nightmare and be with Debbie and finally get the chance to live a more normal and saner life.

Looking over at Miss Parker, Sydney sighed despairingly. She didn't deserve to end up like this. First her mother, then Thomas. And, later, Jarod, though she would die before admitting it. Always standing apart from everyone else, he saw her, even with her arms tied behind her back, still the assertive and aggressively confident woman that the inhabitants of the Centre knew so well. But watching the subtle signals that her body was transmitting, Sydney knew that she was worried just like him. Only she managed to conceal it behind a veil of anger and biting sarcasm.

Sydney resolved that he would protect her as much as he can. Maybe she can be released without being submitted to the courts. At least he can do his best for her. He will not disappoint her. Like he did to everyone else.

Sydney's plans were halted by the sound of the doors opening and in walked a single figure trailed by a couple of other federal agents. The prisoners stared at him in shock, horror, and vengeful pleasure depending on their feelings for him.

* * *

A/N: I had to fix and repost this. Sorry for any confusion. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 2

"Jarod!"

Parker always knew that Jarod wouldn't harm a soul but looking at his eyes, she gasped out loud, when she saw that he had only one eye left.

"Oh my god, Jarod. What happened to you," she whispered in shock. The years of being the huntress disappeared, for the moment, as the childhood friendship that they shared came to the fore. She examined him more closely.

The eye patch covering what was his left eye, the scars crisscrossing his face, and the shaved head giving Jarod a dangerous aura left Parker in a dazed state. He was dressed in a black Battle Dress Uniform, black boots, Kevlar vest festooned with gear, a combat knife, and a MP-5 submachine gun. To Parker, he was prepared for a war. _He was_, a voice whispered in her head.

Miss Parker was the first one to say his name as she pushed her way through her fellow prisoners to greet him. Only to be stopped when he pulled out his Desert Eagle .44 Magnum pistol and pointed it at her. "Get back," he growled at her.

She stopped advancing and slowly back up to where the rest of them were. She shivered at his coldness of his voice as well as looking at the gaping hole of his pistol pointing at her.

Behind her, she felt Sydney and Broots were struggling to grasp Jarod's horrific appearance while her daddy and Raines were each struggling not to laugh out loud. Lyle increased his muffled cursing and writhing on the floor upon hearing Jarod's name.

"Jarod, what happened?" Miss Parker repeated. She desperately wanted to reach out to him and comfort him. But the aura of menace and barely suppressed rage radiating from Jarod made her stay rooted where she was.

Parker saw him standing still as a statue, then he swiveled his ravaged body to look directly at her. "Sears Tower." Jarod's voice was flat and emotionless. Except when you look into his right eye. It was cold with hatred and anger.

"_Mon Dieu_, no," Sydney said, closing his eyes in pained recollection. He felt his body shaking. "Please, Jarod, tell me that you're wrong." The sins of the past were coming back to haunt all of them once he heard Jarod said those two words.

The snickers that Mr. Parker and Raines didn't try too hard to suppress ended suddenly. The pallor on Mr. Parker's face turned ghostly white, while Raines breathing became shorter than normal. Both knew the parts they took in the Sears Tower atrocity. Seeing Jarod, both realized, no power they possessed would get them out of this situation.

Miss Parker and Broots were the only ones in that room who didn't grasped the deeper meaning behind Jarod's terse and angry answer aside from what they saw and felt of the horror while watching the Sears Tower being struck by two hijacked airliners and collapsing from the ensuing damage.

"Sears Tower?" Miss Parker felt stupid repeating Jarod's answer but she didn't know what else to say. His physical appearance had unnerved her. The Jarod and his good looks that she would always remember and fantasize about were forever gone. "What, how?" she asked dazedly.

"Still acting dumb and ignorant as usual, eh, Miss Parker?" Jarod contemptuously observed as he holstered his pistol and crouched down next to Lyle while keeping an eye on everyone else. He quickly ripped off the duct tape off Lyle's mouth causing Lyle to yelp out loud and screaming more obscenities directed at Jarod.

Not betraying any emotions he might be feeling, Jarod grabbed Lyle's hair with his right hand and quickly but savagely placed several punches onto Lyle's jaw with his gloved left hand. The sickening sound of bones breaking can be heard in the suddenly quiet conference. After the beating, the only noise that could be heard was the sounds of Lyle whimpering in agony over his newly broken jaw.

Jarod stood up, pulling Lyle up by his hair. Lyle staggered to his feet, his broken jaw causing him untold agony. That along with his hands bound behind his back caused him to stagger and fighting to get his balance.

Jarod, however, wasn't in a merciful mood. He shoved his long time nemesis towards Mr. Parker and Raines. Now, the unholy trinity can reap what they have sown, he ruthlessly observed. His anger was focused not wild. Not like when he woke up after his three months long coma right after the Sears Tower attack. Then it was a wild rage that threatened to immolate him and anyone around him.

The physical and mental torments as well as the morphine withdrawal that he endured while he recovered from the Sears Tower attack still gave him nightmares. Jarod knew that he wouldn't have survived it if it weren't for Rachel Burke. She literally saved his life. And for that he would be eternally grateful. But he put those thoughts and feelings aside as he brought his focus back to the here and now.

Miss Parker stared at Jarod in horrified fascination. She didn't want to believe what she just saw Jarod did to her brother. Granted, she admitted, Lyle had it coming for a long time. Only she never expected it would be Jarod who would give it to him and in the way he did it to her psychotic brother.

"Jarod," she started to say to him but stopped as he gave her a warning look to stay silent.

Sydney was still in shock as the boy he remembered from so long ago came rushing through his mind's eye and comparing him to the haunted and wrathful man in front of his eyes. He felt his throat constrict and his starting to moisten as the regrets that he might have helped Jarod more overwhelmed him. "Jarod," he rasped in a guilt-stricken voice.

Gesturing to the two agents behind him, Jarod coldly looked at Sydney. "If any of you speak without permission, I'll have them shut you up." Then turning his back on Sydney and the rest of the team that hunted him like an animal, he brought his attention back to the three evil men who did everything in their lives to make him and everyone else miserable.

Jarod wasn't surprised that Mr. Parker and Raines didn't bother to help or comfort Lyle, who was now sitting on the floor with his back against the wall moaning softly in pain. A humorless ghost of a smile passed his lips before it quickly faded. _No honor among thieves or…terrorists._

Trying to seize the initiative away from Jarod, Mr. Parker barked out to him, "I want to call my lawyer now. That's my right, Jarod, and you damn well know it." He settled back, confident that the do-gooder in front of him would acquiesce to his demand. That delusion was shattered quickly.

"Enemy combatants don't have any rights," Jarod flatly stated. A mocking snicker came from one of the feds behind him. Jarod ignored him and stepped forward until he was right in Mr. Parker's face.

Jarod understood Mr. Parker very well. Under the tutelage of Sydney and the Centre, he can and will study a subject to the point of exhaustion for a sim. With that background, he knew that Miss Parker's daddy never got his hands dirty in the sordid machinations of the Centre. He always left the dirty work to others, never letting himself be caught in anything incriminating.

Until now…

Mr. Parker sputtered at Jarod's declaration that he was now an enemy combatant. Blustering to cover up his fright, Mr. Parker told him, "You don't know what you're talking about, Jarod. The Triumvirate will get us out of here. You know it as well as I do." Leaning back, he gave Jarod a frosty smile that said _gotcha!_ The Centre's Chairman finally felt he was back in control of the situation after telling Jarod and the other feds his trump card. This feeling didn't last very long.

Jarod studied this miserable, duplicitous, and a sorry excuse for a human being in front of him. Any normal person would have realized that after Sears Tower, everything changed. However, the Centre seemed to have existed in an bubble of deception while the real world left it behind.

Abruptly, Jarod decided to get things over with these denizens rather than play the old cat-and-mouse games before Sears Tower. Looking directly into Mr. Parker's cold, dead eyes he informed him, "The Triumvirate lived". Jarod wondered if Parker and Raines understood the classical reference to Cicero with the emphasis on the past tense.

Evidently not by the look on Parker's and Raines' faces as well as the others with the exception of Sydney who visibly straightened upon hearing Jarod's news.

"Of course, they're alive, you fool!" Mr. Parker harangued Jarod. "They have their own connections to the government and they're going to get us out of this. You'll see, Jarod. You and everyone involved will be lucky to be alive after we're released." Jerking his head towards Miss Parker, he said to Jarod, "If you help us Jarod, I'm sure that my daughter will show her gratitude in ways that you'll like."

Miss Parker couldn't believe what she just heard from her Daddy. Outrage and anger erupted from her, "Daddy, I'm not a piece of meat to be barter over! How could you do this to me?" The time that Jarod spent to erode her loyalty to her father accelerated as she saw and heard what her father was doing to save his hide.

Jarod just looked at Mr. Parker with disgust and contempt. How Miss Parker would stay loyal to this man was beyond his comprehension though he tried for her sake to be understanding. All of that was in the past now. Stepping forward to invade the Chairman's personal space, he spit out, "No deal. And since you're such a fool, I'll help enlighten you."

Poking his right forefinger hard into Mr. Parker's chest, Jarod in a cold and furious tone, "The members of the Triumvirate were killed and their facilities destroyed while we raided your precious Centre, Mr. Parker." Giving him a cold smile, Jarod continued. "All of their connections to the government are under our control or eliminated. You got no one to cover your ass or to save it."

Jarod saw that Mr. Parker was struggling to cover up the fear and apprehension upon hearing the news of the Triumvirate's violent end. While observing Mr. Parker's reaction, Jarod saw, out of the corner of his eye, Raines shuffling up to them. Hissing to Jarod, "This won't change anything, boy. We're still a power to be reckoned with."

"What power, Raines?" shot back Jarod. "Under the RICO Act, we're seizing all your assets; under the Patriot Act we've frozen any money you might transfer overseas or bringing it here from other countries."

Jabbing his uncovered right hand in the Centre's resident ghoul's face, he hammered home the fact the Centre belonged to the ash heap of history. "The politicians and other officials you have on your payroll, blackmailed, or controlled, we own them now," Jarod stated with a small triumphant grin. "You got no power, Raines."

"No!" yelled Raines as he realized that with Jarod in the picture everything he just heard either happened or was in the process of happening. "You're lying, trying to trick me and Mr. Parker. You'll die for this outrage, Jarod," threatened Raines.

Jarod had enough of these two power-crazed madmen. With an arm on each of their shirts, he roughly shoved them backwards. "Shut the fuck up!" he ordered to the surprised duo. It was out of character for Jarod to curse. Threatening them with his MP-5, Jarod tonelessly said, "Both of you might be shot trying to escape if you keep this up."

Stepping backwards, he gave everyone a harsh stare out of his right eye. It was time to bring this melodrama to an end…

* * *

**A/N:** This story is set in a post-9/11 type AU. I needed a very dramatic device to force both Jarod's and the government's hand to shut down the Centre. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 3

Jarod looked over at the prisoners in front of him. A smirk threatened to break out on his face as he saw the usual Centre group dynamics coalescing before his remaining eye. Parker, Broots, and Sydney were quietly huddled together, while Mr. Parker, Raines, and Lyle were off to the side with a considerable space separating these two groups of Centre denizens.

_Some things never change_ he mused with contempt as he prepared to close the book on a horrific nightmare. Gesturing with his black clad left hand, he pointed at the three worst evildoers of the half dozen figures in front of him.

"Mr. Parker, Raines, Lyle get over there," pointing to the two federal agents standing by the door. "It's time for you three to get ready for your trip."

"What trip," Mr. Parker asked suspiciously. He never liked being toyed by Jarod. This felt like this was another one of those games he played on Miss Parker and her team.

Not immediately replying to Mr. Parker's query, Jarod signaled to the two federal agents posted by the doors to bring in another dozen agents to help escort Raines, Lyle, and Mr. Parker to the already waiting black helicopter sitting outside on the beach. Knowing how cowardly they were, they were going to resist every step of the way until they were thrown into the helicopter.

When the extra dozen feds showed up, Jarod deigned to answer the ex-chairman. "Israel."

Terror seized all three, even Lyle still reeling from the broken jaw that Jarod gave him. Lyle felt something wet, then looked down at himself. To his humiliation he saw that he urinated himself.

Jarod felt a small sense of satisfaction as these three scum of the Earth finally felt what it was liked to be terrorized by something beyond their control and manipulation. "You sold Simulations 102 and 519 to Arab terrorist groups. Simulations that I thought were used for good and which again you perverted them for something evil."

Miss Parker was repulsed by what she was seeing and hearing from both Jarod and her daddy. Glancing over at Broots, she saw he was going through a case of the vapors while Syd looked liked he aged a decade in the last few moments upon Jarod's revelations.

Right now, she felt she was being pulled in two different directions. Half of her just wanted to curl up and hide from the world while the other half yearned to be with Jarod, to take him away from the hell that was the Centre. But all she can do was continue to just be a witness to the fall of House Parker and the Centre.

"The Israelis were informed of what the Centre, more specifically what all three of you did," Jarod told the three frightened and desperate men. "Shin Bet and Mossad have already formed a joint welcoming committee for you" referring to the Israeli domestic security and foreign intelligence agencies respectively.

"For the love of God, Jarod, don't send us there," pleaded Mr. Parker. How was he to know what the ragheads wanted to do with Jarod's simulations. They were willing to pay exorbitant sums for the sims that the Centre was offering and he wasn't going to lose any sleep over what the buyers wanted to do with their purchased simulations.

Once he found who bought the sims, Lyle eagerly looked forward to seeing the carnage that would ensue once the sims were put into effect. He gulped as he vaguely recalled that Israeli interrogation techniques were extremely "aggressive". He tried to beg for mercy but all that came out of his smashed jaw was, "mmmrer".

Raines didn't give a damn what would happen to the Israelis when the so-called "holy warriors" started to use the simulations. What he wanted to see were whether the sims were as effective as he thought they would be and he hoped to modify them for future customers. All, of course, without Jarod's knowledge.

This was too much for Miss Parker. Taking a step forward and hoping that Jarod would forget his threat to tape her mouth shut, she asked aloud, "what are Simulations 102 and 509?"

Annoyance and irritation flared in Jarod. "Now you want to know what's going on within the Centre? You didn't want to know what kind of evil that was being conjured up in the bowels here?" Stepping towards her, "How many people died because of the Centre, Miss Parker? How many families…" he fought down the pain, "were ripped apart because of it, hmm?"

Miss Parker barely fought back a sharp retort to Jarod's questions, seeing that he was on the edge. Instead, she replied, "I don't know, Jarod. I just followed orders. You understand what would happen to those who tried to pry into areas where they weren't supposed to." A flash of her mother's face flitted across her eyes.

"Followed orders." Jarod repeated what she said. He gave a appraising look as if seeing her in a different light. He made a judgment looking into her blue-gray eyes. "Like the perfect Nazi." He wouldn't answer her question. Right now, he couldn't stand the sight of her.

Ignoring the pain that his comment caused her, Miss Parker stubbornly continued to question him. "Jarod, what the hell are Simulations 102 and 509? Tell me, damnit," her temper flaring in spite of the heavy presence of federal agents in the room. "Why won't you talk to me?"

He stepped back from her and ignored her. Gesturing with his head, he told the leader of the federal agents, "Get those three out of here and into the helicopter waiting on the beach."

As the three realized that Jarod had sealed their fate, they fought and struggled against their captors and their restraints. Upon seeing that making a combination of threats and promises to the agents were to no avail, both Mr. Parker and Raines resorted to begging for mercy. Everyone in the room could hear their pleas as their voices finally disappeared down the hallway.

After they were finally on their way to the covert Israeli helicopter, Jarod turned around to look at the three remaining Centre employees.

A flood of emotions were churning through him. Sadness, anger, remorse, depression, yes, even love came and went as he saw Broots, Sydney, and, the ever constant, Miss Parker standing in the corner.

Dear old Sydney. The closest thing to a father that he had while he was held prisoner and exploited by the Centre for over thirty years. He could almost forgive Sydney for his role in helping the Centre take advantage of him and other nameless, helpless denizens. Almost.

Spending that time in the hospital he reevaluated everything he believed in. His beliefs, his thoughts, the bonds that tied him to those he cared or thought he cared before Sears Tower forever changed him, and what he wanted his life to be.

Now, seeing the three people whose job for the last five years was to put him in a cage again, the changes he embarked on upon being released from the hospital were beginning to come into effect.

As Jarod silently stood there, Miss Parker braced herself for what was to come next. She was frightened about what would happen to the three of them after seeing what fate befell on her daddy, Lyle and Raines.

"Jarod," she started to say to him.

"Shut the hell up," Jarod wasn't about to let the sharp-tongued ice bitch dominate this situation. He made a motion of gripping the pistol grip of his MP-5 submachine gun and sending a none too subtle message to her that he wasn't going to play any of the games that he used to inflict upon her in the past.

Miss Parker wisely kept quiet but was furious inside at the way she was treated.

Seeing that she was abiding by his command, for now he cautioned himself, he turned to Broots.

"Come here, Mr. Broots," he gently ordered to the frightened computer technician.

As Jarod's voice pierced the fog of terror that surrounded his mind, with his heart beating so hard that he felt it jump out of his chest, Broots started to come back from where he retreated into himself.

Taking small, halting steps and feeling the eyes of Miss Parker and Sydney on his back, he stopped in front of the intimidating and scary looking Jarod.

"Y-yes, Jarod?" Broots stuttered. He knew and dreaded what Jarod was going to say next.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Broots. Without it, this would not have gone off as well as it was," Jarod stated.

Anger flared in Miss Parker's heart as she heard this revelation of Broots' betrayal of her and the Centre. But it died as quickly as it came to be. A sad realization overwhelmed her that poor Broots probably didn't have any choice in it at all.

Caught between the evil of the Centre and the relentless machinations of Jarod, she understood which choice Broots made.

"Um, your welcome," mumbled Broots. He can feel the anger and surprise of Miss Parker and the strangled gasp coming out of Sydney's mouth. But torn between his loyalty to her and Sydney versus his daughter, Debbie. The choice was a no-brainer. Debbie's safety and future would always come first.

"Debbie is waiting for you outside. An agent will take you to her." Jarod gave him a warm smile. Broots was the least guilty of the Centre employees whom he dealt with over the years.

"Great, Jarod. I'm sure glad this is over with," Broots said, showing some signs of enthusiasm. It didn't last very long.

"What the hell did you do, Broots," snapped Miss Parker. She was pissed and annoyed that the slight, nervous computer geek would have the balls to work with the feds and help put an end to the Centre.

"I had to protect Debbie. She was starting to ask questions about my working for the Centre and you also, Miss Parker," as he began to explain to her why he decided to cooperate with the government.

Broots swallowed hard which Parker noticed before continuing. "She told me that she wanted to be just like you when she grew up." Giving her a determined look but also a bit apologetically, he said, "I didn't want that to happen."

Will it never end, she thought as another wave of agony went through her. First Jarod, now Broots.

"I would never hurt Debbie, Broots," she replied, trying to keep the pain out but failing. She knew Broots understood how much Debbie meant to her but clarity came to her that no matter how much care shown towards Debbie didn't amount to a hill of beans when she wasn't the parent. There was a dividing line between being a friend and a parent. And Parker knew that she didn't have the parental obligation that Broots had.

"Um, I know that you wouldn't intentionally hurt her, Miss Parker but you know, as well as Jarod knows, what growing up in the Centre is like." Broots was anxious at being separated from Debbie and was still concerned about what might happen to her.

"Yes, Mr. Broots," interjected Jarod glaring at Parker and Sydney, "I do know what it's like to grow up in the Centre."

Parker returned Jarod's glare daring him to bring up their past but he didn't. Instead, he told Broots, "You better say your goodbyes to Miss Parker and Dr. Greene now. We've got you and Debbie ready to go." With that, Jarod using his multitool to cut off Broots flexcuffs.

Jerkily nodding his head, Broots awkwardly looked towards Sydney, "Goodbye, Sydney. It was nice working with you." Feeling his eyes tearing, he forced his words out. "You've been a great friend for me and Debbie. I won't forget it. Thank you, Syd for your friendship and support."

Sydney smiled at Broots sincere appreciation. Working for the Centre rarely one see this kind of appreciation. Typically, it was every person for himself or herself, always looking out for number one.

"You're welcome, Broots. I wish you and Debbie my very best for your new start."

Sydney saw the warm smile that Broots gave him then saw the ex-Centre employee turned towards Miss Parker.

"Miss Parker," Broots felt himself starting to stutter under the cold look that she gave him. "Um, I, uh…"

"Oh, spit it out, you moron," hissed Miss Parker.

Broots gathered his courage and told her what was on his mind. "I just want to say it was an experience working for you." Which was an understatement, he told himself. "And to express my, uh, gratitude for being so attentive and caring to Debbie."

Controlling her face so that no one in the room could see how much Broots' words meant to her, Miss Parker carefully nodded her head and gave him a terse, "you're welcome. Debbie means a lot to me."

Seeing that was all she was going to say and hiding his disappointment at her lack of emotion, Broots sigh inwardly and turned towards Jarod who stood silently by observing his farewells. "Jarod, thanks for helping Debbie and me."

"Don't thank me, Mr. Broots. You stepped forward to help us put an to this evil. I should be the one to say thank you," Jarod pointed out. He knew that Broots was experiencing emotional turmoil right now, with both him and Debbie going into the witness protection program and leaving everything and everyone they knew and cared about behind. Any gesture of kindness would help Broots ease into getting prepared for his new life.

Miss Parker couldn't stop the rolling of her eyes at Jarod's pathetic platitudes for Broots. She could saw that her lovable yet treasonable idiot savant was lapping it up from the labrat. Her earlier concerns for Jarod faded away as she felt the indignity and humiliation of being tied up, held at gunpoint, and being placed in a situation where she wasn't in charge.

The embarrassment and shame that her daddy offered her to Jarod didn't help her temper either. That was the last straw. Whatever bonds of familial affections held between her and her daddy were torn asunder upon hearing her father's desperate deal to be set free.

Observing Jarod shaking hands with Broots and then being escorted away to meet with Debbie, Parker observed. The kindness displayed by Jarod towards disappeared when he turned his attention towards Sydney.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is where most of the supporting cast leaves the stage. Next chapter is how Jarod deals with Sydney and Miss Parker. I will be posting chapter 4 within a few days after getting back from the long Memorial Day weekend. Enjoy the holiday and remember, if briefly, the citizens of this country who served their country and given the ultimate sacrifice in protecting us.  



	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 4

Jarod looked at the wizened face of his what? Captor? Father-figure? Mad scientist? He was all those roles while Jarod was imprisoned and exploited by the Centre.

The years being a hunted fugitive deceived him from seeing Sydney's true role in making his life a hell on Earth.

Like all the relationships he re-examined during his recuperation from the Sears Tower attack, Sydney's underwent a transformation. While Sydney tried to prevent the Centre from harming him, it wasn't purely altruism that motivated him. Jarod realized, with the clarity of someone betrayed by someone close to him, that Sydney was mostly motivated by the fear of losing his prized specimen.

With that bitter understanding, and reviewing the DSAs of his attempts to forge a relationship with the good doctor being rebuffed time after time, Jarod felt another illusion crumbling away under the rushing current of the truth.

He was a just an interesting labrat for Sydney to experiment upon. _Refuge_ was always the word used between them when an experiment went too far but Jarod wanted to hear the one word that Sydney, like everyone else who served under the Centre, never spoke in his presence.

_Freedom._

No, the good psychiatrist never used that word with him. He had to discover it all by himself and to find out what it meant.

"Jarod?" Sydney probed, watching Jarod with a far away look. It was a look that he rarely saw. A self-contemplative look that he actively discouraged in a younger Jarod to keep him focused for the next simulation. To pretend over and over and over. Never to be able to discover who and what he wanted to be. Never a chance to find his destiny.

Another sin, Sydney thought, to add to his long list of sins.

"Dr. Greene," Jarod said, not using his old mentor's first name. Seeing the old man face to face, his certainty that Sydney didn't gave a damn about him as a human being turned to doubt as he saw the bitter regret and sadness in the doctor's eyes.

Both Sydney and Miss Parker looked sharply at Jarod when he didn't Sydney's first name. Being called by both his professional title and last name was an ominous sign.

Not knowing what Jarod would do, Parker moved closer to Sydney, in case something happens.

Glancing over to see the ice queen sidle over to Sydney brought a silent mirth to Jarod. _She_ _cares about someone?_ he wondered in disbelief. He doubted it. He'll examine it later. Sydney was the issue now.

"Dr. Greene," began Jarod, "what you and the other Dr. Frankensteins working here did to innocent people here," _including me, you bastard_, "you'll be facing time in prison."

Sydney knew in his heart that eventually all the evil that he participated in would come back to haunt him. To hear it from one of his victims finally made it real to him. "I understand, Jarod," murmured Sydney, shoulders drooping. The guilt that he compartmentalized over the long years of service to the Centre was finally coming out to torment him.

"Really, doctor?" Jarod questioned the tired and defeated scientist. "You, of all people, a Holocaust survivor, should have spoken up, gone to the authorities, did something to put an end to this nightmare," his harsh voice ringing in the meeting room. "Didn't you hear the phrase, Never Again, sometime in your life? Did you know what that meant, Herr Doctor?" taunted Jarod.

Sydney flinched as though he was physically punched in the gut. Jarod saw it and a part of him felt bad about but still he continued.

"Or were you like those nice and neighborly Germans who ignored the increase in air pollution from those heavily guarded death camps? Well, Sydney, what do have to say?"

"Enough," snapped Miss Parker. She could see what effects Jarod's accusations had on poor Sydney. He was aging right before her eyes, looking much frailer than she recall. "Stop hurting him. Just get to the damn point." She stood shoulder to shoulder with Sydney, giving her strength to him and daring Jarod to do anything about it.

Looking at her face, Jarod was sorely tempted to shove her aside but reluctantly agreed with her, though he would never let her know, to let Sydney face whatever fate and the federal court system befell him.

"As I said earlier, Dr. Greene, you'll be spending time in prison. How long will be up to the courts," Jarod informed him. He also added, "I will also make it my personal mission to see that you will lose your doctor's license and never practice, or should I say, experiment on children again."

Knees shaking and weariness settling on him like a wet blanket, Sydney mutely nodded. He was exhausted from the verbal assault from Jarod. Even Miss Parker's comforting presence didn't help.

Seeing the defeated psychiatrist, Jarod felt his old affection for Sydney resurfacing and compassion warred with his desperate need for justice. Compassion won.

Taking a pen and notebook from the left cargo pocket of his pants, he jotted a name and phone number. Hesitating, he glanced at Parker, than returned his attention to the notebook. Flipping to another page, he wrote the same name and phone.

Finished writing, he tore out the first page and stuffed it into one of Sydney's business jacket pocket. "The note contains the name and phone number of a very good lawyer. Maybe he can reduce your sentence to the barest minimum or have you thrown yourself upon the mercy of the courts." Jarod shrugged, "Or he can get you off scot-free. Whatever the outcome is, this cancels out all debts and obligations between us, Dr. Greene. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Jarod," croaked out Sydney. He desperately wanted to tell how sorry he was for the way he and the Centre treated him but words failed him right now.

Jarod sighed inwardly. It was hard on Sydney but it had to be done. Gesturing over his shoulder to the two silent feds to take Sydney away, he and Miss Parker watched the broken doctor being shuffled off into custody.

As another pair of agents were preparing to enter the conference to take the place of the pair who were escorting Sydney out of it, Jarod spoke to them. "I can handle the last prisoner alone."

Both agents nodded acquiescence and left, closing the doors behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 5

As soon as the doors were closed, Miss Parker finally vented her fury on Jarod. "You son-of-a-bitch! After all those years when he took care of you, this is how you treat him? He was like a father to you, Jarod!" she shouted.

Jarod felt his blood boiling as she yelled at him. No one from the Centre was going to tell him what to do ever again. Not Raines, Mr. Parker, Sydney, or the ice bitch herself. "Don't you dare tell me how to treat people! You, the Ice Queen, telling me how to behave around people! That's a laugh." He crossed his arms and glared at her contemptuously. "You treated people like shit, Miss Ice Bitch!"

If she weren't flexcuffed, she would've had her hands around his neck. No one who wanted to live to a ripe old age would dare mouth off to her. But Pezhead did and she always hated him for it. Except for a little voice in her head, _Admit it, he's the only one who isn't afraid of you, whose guts you've secretly admired. That's why you lo-…,_ violently shaking her head to get rid of _that_ feeling, she matched Jarod's glare with her own.

"I care about people, Jarod. For example, Debbie," she pointed out. She always had a soft spot for Broots' daughter. In her, Parker could see a young girl growing up without a mother. Like her. But luckily, for Debbie, her mom was still alive and never had to endure the trauma of the murder of her mother.

"You care about Debbie, eh?" queried Jarod. He knew that she was going to bring up Broots' young daughter. "Strange. I thought I just heard Broots saying that he didn't want her growing up to be like you. Or was I hearing things?" He deliberately pressed on an open wound but didn't care anymore. "Was I, Miss Parker?"

Giving him a hurt look, Miss Parker wouldn't answer him. Her temper instantly cooled when Jarod threw the cold water of Broots' explanation of not wanting her to be a role model for Debbie at her.

To Jarod, her silence was all the answer he needed. Seeing that he won this round, Jarod tore off the second page from his green government notebook and Jarod stuck it into one of her jacket pockets. Pulling back from her he informed her, "The paper has the same lawyer's name and phone number."

"Why are you helping me, Jarod?" she wondered. Their relationship was always a Jekyll and Hyde one. One moment they would help each other like they've been together forever, the next they would like nothing better than to tear each other's heart out.

Jarod paused and looked at her. For a moment, all he can see was the little girl who provided the only light in the darkness of his childhood imprisonment. During all the years when he was hunted by her, he wanted to bring back the girl who was his best and only friend while growing up there. In the aftermath of the Sears Tower attack, he finally accepted that little girl was dead. "For old times sakes, Miss Parker." Gently he added, "For the kindness you showed me when we were children."

Miss Parker was taken aback at his honesty. She remembered those times back when they were innocent and didn't know the extant of the evil that was the Centre. God, they used to tell each other everything. Then there was the exploration of the Centre with her other childhood friend, Angelo. She fondly remembered that those were the only good times all three of them ever had.

In melancholic moments, she wondered where it all went wrong. What happened to that little girl with two close friends who didn't know that they were all, to some degree, were Centre prisoners.

"Who's the lawyer?" Miss Parker asked, struggling to overcome her melancholy

"Ryan Chang. He was one of my last pretends before the Sears Tower attack," answered Jarod. He relaxed a little as both he and Miss Parker tried to be civil towards each other.

"He was framed by a rival lawyer for malfeasance and unethical behavior. I stepped in and helped him. He almost lost his family and his practice," Jarod sighed, remembering the suicidal despondency Russell exhibited when he was on the verge of losing everything that he held dear.

"Naturally, you got the evidence and got the crooked lawyer to admit what he did, right?" she sarcastically asked. She knew the pattern that Jarod did his pretends by heart now so she answered her own question.

"Why, of course, Miss Parker," stated Jarod matter of factly. He continued his reasoning. "Ryan will do his best to defend you, I can assure you of that."

"I'm sure he will." She knew Jarod, even in this circumstance, was telling her the truth. This lawyer would be the best and, hopefully, she will get off with no time serve.

"No matter how good he is, Parker, you'll still be serving time." Jarod warned her because he knew that with her single mindedness she may delude herself into thinking that she'll get off scot-free.

"Oh, you suddenly developed clairvoyance?" Parker snidely asked him in a mocking tone.

"No, Miss Parker," gritting his teeth as he fought his irritation with her. "You must have been injured because you obviously forgotten about the DSAs with all the years worth of security recordings or the reports that you and others filed with the Tower and the Triumvirate."

No she didn't, Parker thought to herself. She half-heartedly wished to herself that the feds, particularly Jarod, wouldn't think about those incriminating evidence. But, mentally sighing, Jarod was just too damn good for her to be able to get away unpunished.

She wondered about the course that her life had taken. In her eagerness to please her daddy, she took a job with the family firm, the Centre; little knowing at the time that it would eventually destroy her soul and her sense of goodness.

In a twist of irony, Parker realized that only after Jarod had escaped from the Centre, did she managed to slowly find her way out of the darkness that engulfed her. Jarod, she reluctantly admitted, had a big hand in helping her find a way out of the nightmare that her adult life was like. Now, looking at the changed man in front of her, she can only see the proof about the mistakes she made and, maybe, just maybe, she deserved to be punished for being a participant to such cruelties as to hurt such a brilliant soul such as Jarod's.

"It's time, Parker." Letting out a sad breath, Jarod gently took her right arm and escorted her out of the conference room.

As they walked out of the room, both were awash in swirling emotions, thinking about missed turning points, the ties that bound them, and their ties that were torn asunder by forces larger than either of them.

Each wanting to express what they wanted to felt and thought but repressed for so long that they hardened, not into something solid and long-lasting, but something fragile that with a spoken word at the right time would unleash a torrent of emotions that both were eager to show and fear because it would require both of them to take a leap of faith for each other.

But no words were exchanged as Jarod escorted her to the bank of elevators where a group of federal agents were gathered.

Handing her over to a pair of the waiting federal agents, Jarod finally said the words that Miss Parker had dreaded ever since she first laid eyes on him. "Goodbye, Miss Parker." With those words, he finally turned his back on his first love, a love lost to a cruel, remorseless organization run by people without a heart or soul.

As she watched his departing back, she wanted to run to him, telling him not to leave her, begging him to be with her forever. Parker would have too, in spite of the armed feds around her but she didn't.

Parker was rooted to the spot, heedless of the insistent tugging on her arms by one of the agents urging her to turn around and face the elevator doors.

Instead, she watched Jarod walked up to the red-headed female agent who earlier pulled a gun on her father and gave her a bone-crushing embrace. She could see he was crying by the way his body was shaking and the attempts by the redhead to comfort him by rubbing her hands on his back and whispering into his ears.

Miss Parker saw that her vision was becoming blurry. She was crying, she realized. For once, she wouldn't hide her tears and she didn't give a damn whether other people think she was weak.

She was losing something, no she corrected herself, someone so precious that she didn't realize how valuable it was until it was too late. Vaguely, she heard a chime sound. The elevator doors opened and now both agents were forcefully moving her towards the open elevator car. Just before the doors closed on the scene of Jarod and the redhead in an emotional embrace she said the only words that needed to be said. In a raw, catching voice, she whispered, "Goodbye, Jarod."

* * *

**A/N:** I hope that I satisfied those of my readers who were looking forward to Jarod's and Ms. Parker's confrontation. If not, please let me know where I could have improved it. Constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames please.

Next chapter will be about new beginnings, past connections, and remembrances. Plus, it's long.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 6

_Five years later…_

The doors slammed shut behind her with a loud clang. For the last five years, the sounds of doors being closed carried a different meaning than the one today. After five years, she was finally free. Taking a few steps forward to be out of the shadow of the medium-security federal penitentiary, she inhaled a lungful of air. _Free._

Wearing the same outfit that she wore while reporting to the prison, years out of fashion, Miss Parker looked at the crowded parking lot. She saw some small groups of people, as well as solitary individuals, waiting for their friends or loved ones who were being released at the same time as her. Or, from her prison experience, gang bangers looking to pick up their newly released ex-cons. But, for Parker, there was no one waiting for her with open arms, hugs, cheerful cursing, or tears. Just a lonely figure which the world has passed by. An insignificant creature that made some awful choices and wound up paying the price for her mistakes.

Clutching the paper bag which contained her possessions which she took going into the prison and the few keepsakes that kept her sane and alleviating the boredom of her prison sentence, she slowly walked over to the public bus stop, hobbled by her five-inch stiletto heels. She silently cursed herself for wearing them when she was transported to the prison because she didn't foresee that after five years of wearing cheap sneakers, she would need some time to adjust to wearing such awkward footwear.

Finally arriving at the bus bench, she plopped herself down and sat down her bag. She leaned back against the bench rest and exhaled wearily. She didn't want to think just now but was forced to because she needed to find out how to find food and shelter on just three hundred dollars.

She snorted derisively. Once a fabulously wealthy woman, now an near pauperless ex-convict waiting at a bus stop under a hot sun. _Wonderful, just wonderful._

Wearily, Miss Parker kicked off her stiletto heels. She luxuriated in the feeling of not wearing those cramped and uncomfortable shoes. Parker rubbed both of her sore feet. She idly wondered whether she can afford to buy similar footwear in her future as well as debating whether to stop wearing impossibly high heels forever.

As her mind meander over footwear, a white sedan slowed to a stop before her. Miss Parker stopped rubbing her sore feet and looked up with suspicion. Her senses were heightened. After five years in a medium security prison her survival instincts were in high gear.

With the engine idling, the driver's side door opened. Tensing her body, she saw a gray haired head slowly emerging. It was followed by a familiar face which was looking at her behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.

"Miss Parker."

Feeling her throat constrict, Parker swallowed before answering. He was the last person she expected to see here outside the prison that was her home for the last five miserable years.

"Ben. Why are you here? I, uh mean, I guess you're here because of me?" she was rambling, but this was how she was feeling towards her mother's close friend right now.

Ben looked at her. The little girl that his Catherine talked about with so much pride was gone. In her place was a haunted and suspicious woman who made too many bad mistakes which she couldn't escape from.

He gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be here in the first place. To see his Catherine's daughter like this was heartbreaking but Jarod made him promise to take her in. Once she found out about the changes that happened while she was in prison, she was going to need a familiar face and familiar surroundings to comfort her.

Her part in the Sears Tower attack, no matter tertiary her role might be, tainted his view of her. She had too much of her corrupt father while little existed of Catherine in her. That was the other reason why he didn't want her in his home. The emotional wounds of the Sears Tower atrocity were still too raw for him to give her any leeway in his heart.

So be it, he told himself. He would give her some time and a place to orient herself back to society after the years spent behind prison but it would be temporary. Once he saw that she was back on her feet and able to absorb the news, he would tell her to leave. His love for Catherine was the only reason he would let her stay but it wouldn't be enough to let Miss Parker stay at his place permanently. Not even for Catherine's sake.

"Get in," he gruffly ordered her. Ben didn't feel gentlemanly at all, so he just watched as Parker looked at him for a silent moment than nodded her head once.

"Okay," she told him, putting her high heels back on, than grabbing her bag, got up and walked the few steps to the front passenger door and opened it. She sat on the seat and stared ahead at the meandering street with grassy hilltops in the distance.

Ben got back in the car and put it into drive. For the next several miles, an uncomfortable silence filled the car until it was broken by Miss Parker. "Where are you taking me?"

Ben looked over at her. He noticed she was still looking straight ahead ever since they left the prison. Not once did she made eye contact with him or looked at the surrounding landscape. "We're going to the airport and from there to my place," answering her question.

Turning his head back to the road the uncomfortable silence continued until they arrived at the airport.

While waiting at the terminal for their plane to arrive, Miss Parker glanced at Ben who sat next to her reading the local newspaper.

She felt the tension and uneasiness just by his body language. Unsure as to what was the reason behind his sullen attitude, she responded by shutting down. A survival lesson learned in prison. To not feel at all, just become an automaton to make the days and nights go by faster than they actually were.

Tentatively, unsure as to how to phrase her question without upsetting him, she probed him. "Ben, how did you know when I was being released? Very few people knew about my parole."

Ben put down his newspaper and looked at her. "Some of Catherine's old connections. They kept me apprised of what was going on with you." That wasn't the whole truth. The only connection he had was Jarod and Ben promised him that Miss Parker would never know about Jarod's involvement in telling Ben when she was released from prison.

Miss Parker kept her irritation at Ben to herself. She can feel that he wasn't telling her the exact truth but right now there was nothing that she can do about it. Looking at the mass of humanity ready to get on board their plane or leaving one to be greeted by their love ones, she paused to formulate a reply.

A young Latina girl caught her eye. She was running on her little feet to greet a kneeling man who presumably was her father. Parker watched attentively as he picked her up, gave her a wet kiss on her cheek while twirling her around in a circle.

The little girl was gleefully laughing and putting her hands on his cheeks. A scene of ordinary happiness and love, Parker contemplated as the girl's mother came up to the other two and kissed both of them and bestowing upon them a million-watt smile. A heartwarming family reunion which Parker bleakly understood will never happen to her. She watched as the young family walked off to wherever their destination was, the couple hand in hand while the father was carrying his daughter in the crook of his left arm.

Giving Ben a cool stare, she said, "I see. I hope those connections of yours will help me later on." She wasn't certain of who were Ben's connections though Parker did suspect who one of them might be.

Her heart and mind shied away from that possibility. _Don't think of him. Please, God, don't let me think of him. Not now._

Successfully shielding her thoughts Ben didn't notice the pang of loss that coursed through her body that Jarod brought to the fore. Therefore, he continued on oblivious, "Maybe, I'll have to ask them though. See how they react to your request." Would Jarod help her? he wondered. He didn't know. Jarod was an enigma now rather than the pleasant and caring young man he first encountered all those years ago.

She was saved from replying when the PA blared out asking those waiting for the flight to Maine to prepare for boarding.

From the time of boarding their flight to making the trip to Ben's place, the two of them barely spoke to each other except for the meaningless pleasantries of commenting on the weather and other inane topics.

When they arrived at Ben's home, he expertly guided her to her mother's old room. No words needed to be exchanged between them. Both knew that Miss Parker's future would begin in that room.

"Here you are," he announced opening the door. Catherine's room was mute testimony to Ben's devotion, nay love, for her as well as a memorial to her memory. He sincerely hoped that finally some of Catherine's compassion and love would rub off on her daughter.

Miss Parker didn't say anything for the moment absorbed as she was by the very strong presence of her mother in the room that Catherine occupied every time she came up to Ben's home. A little bit of the enormous burden was lifted from her shoulder as she, liked a drought stricken plant, soaked up the love and peace that filled the room into the darkness that was her soul.

Laying down the paper bag carrying her meager possessions on the dresser stand, Miss Parker turned to face Ben. "Thank you for letting me stay here. I, I don't have anywhere else to go to," she murmured. Then her stubborn pride, dormant after five years, woke up, "For now."

Ben gave her a wry smile, seeing what the last part of her statement for what it is. "Of course, Miss Parker. I'll let you settle in." Shifting his stance, suddenly uncomfortable as to how she react to what he would say next, he carefully mentioned, "There are some of Catherine's old clothes in the closet that should fit you."

At the mention of her mother, Parker's emotional defenses started to crumble. Stifling her urge to cry she nodded and huskily said, "Thank you, Ben. I'll find something to wear. If you don't mind, I like to be alone now."

Ben silently assented and gently closed the door behind him. Once the door shut behind Ben, Parker's body shook with tears. In the room with the omnipresent aura of her late beloved mother, the sad little girl came forth. Hastily, moving over to lie down on the bed, she curled herself into a fetal position and poured out the bottled up sadness, pain, and, yes, shame over the wreckage of her life and the lost opportunities.

Random thoughts came to her as she continued to convulse in silent sobs. Wondering where Debbie and Broots are, Sydney still locked up, the fate of her daddy, and the most painful of all, Jarod's fate.

Alone and with no one to hear her, Miss Parker finally admitted out loud what her heart had told her several lifetimes ago, "I love you, Jarod. We were meant to be together."

With her declaration of love for the Pretender, it set off another wave of sobbing as she bitterly regretted the missed turning points and the what might beens: a boy and a girl with another on the way, a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, a dog running around in the backyard, Jarod and her having it all. She could have had it all she realized.

Spending five years in prison left a lot of time to think, to contemplate the mistakes one made, and the failures one gone through. Losing Jarod to that redhead left her heart shattered. No one watching Jarod and the redhead could deny that there was something special between them.

Parker tried with all her might to pretend, snorting to herself, that it was otherwise. But at night, in the grim, dingy prison cell, her subconscious would assault her with the truth. Jarod loved someone else. Not her. Her nightmares now included something different. Jarod living happily ever after with someone else. She tortured herself with that thought even though she knew it was her fault for pushing him away and rejecting all of his overtures throughout their "I run, you chase" years.

Sniffling, she reached over to the box of napkins and grabbed several tissues. After wiping her still damp eyes and blowing her nose, Miss Parker stared at the ceiling.

_Now what._ Good question, she mused. Her family behind bars or dead, one of her two friends were serving time in prison and the other disappeared into the witness protection program with his daughter who was the closest thing to a daughter she will ever have.

Even though her job prospects were practically nonexistent due to her criminal past she still have the trust fund that her mother had set up for her. It will keep her going until she can get back onto her feet. If no wanted to hire her, then she can hire herself, she vowed. She would start her own company. Do something decent for once with her life.

Her thoughts turned back to the same constant in her life. Jarod. What became of him, she wondered. She wanted to know. No, she admonished herself, she needed to know. She couldn't explain it not even to herself but she had to find out the whereabouts of Jarod.

But that would be later. Now, she needed to pull herself together. As well as reporting in to the US Probation Office. Grunting, she sat up. Five years of probation subject to her not getting into any trouble during that period. As if she really wanted to go back to prison and its friendly inhabitants.

Standing up, she slowly walked over to the closet that contained Catherine's clothes. She placed her hand on the doorknob but hesitated. Parker idolized her mother since she was taken away from her at such a young age. Now, that she was forced to wear some of her mother's clothes, a sense of shame swept through her. She felt unworthy to wear clothes that belonged to long dead woman who was remembered for her compassion, sense of justice, and fairness, qualities that no one she knew would attribute to her.

Stopping her self-recriminations, she turned the doorknob and opened the door. Inside, she saw clothes circa 1970s. Reverently, she reached out to touch them. This wasn't the first time that she saw these clothes. The first time was when she went chasing down another of Jarod's clues to her past. She still had the music box with the little ballerina on top that he left behind as the clue for her when she went to prison. Now, she wondered what happened to it.

That was when she first met Ben and his friendship with Catherine. Though she had her suspicions that there was more than friendship involved but declined to pursue it. Miss Parker reasoned that if Ben wanted to tell her he would in time.

Pulling out a blue striped shirt and matching blue pants, she walked over to the full-length mirror and held the clothes before her. Seeing that they matched her eyes and looked the closest to modern day taste, she went ahead and changed into them.

Taking another look in the mirror, she was somewhat satisfied with what she wore. She knew what was bothering her. The clothes still were part of the past. Of course, once she tapped into her trust fund, she definitely would get an up-to-date wardrobe.

Twirling away from the mirror, Parker went over to the closet again, this time she bent down to see what shoes her mother left behind.

She saw that there were several kinds of shoes, including some high heels and sneakers, she decided on a pair of sandals that looked comfortable. After putting them on, she looked around trying to make up her mind on what to do next.

Her indecision ended rather quickly when her stomach growled loudly. With a start, she glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost six pm. Time for some food she realized.

Opening the door, Parker headed downstairs wondering what Ben had in mind for dinner. Right now, she wasn't in the mood to go out for dinner. She much preferred to eat in private for the moment. After five years of eating with hundreds of other inmates, all under the vigilant gaze of their prison guards, Parker developed a healthy dislike for crowded dining venues.

Upon reaching the first floor, Parker headed unerringly towards the kitchen looking for Ben. She was going to ask him what he had in store for dinner.

Entering the kitchen, she saw him over by the stove stirring something in a pot. All the delicious smells and the sight of food being prepared made her mouth water. Once again, her stomach indicated its hunger by growling.

Looking up from stirring the pot, Ben gave her a polite nod upon hearing her stomach growling. Embarrassed, Miss Parker explained, "I haven't eaten in a while. I was wondering what we're having for dinner."

Setting the ladle on a cutting board, Ben wiped his hands before answering her. "I'm making us a Maine lobster dinner." He jerked his head, gesturing to the ingredients spread around the kitchen. "I figure you would like something special rather than prison food."

Touched by his sincerity, she told him, "Thank you, Ben." Looking around the kitchen, she eyed him, "Can I help you in any way?" With the chaos that was Ben's kitchen, she figured she would give him a hand and wash away any guilty feelings she might have for his generosity towards helping her.

He really didn't want to be closer to her than need be, but seeing the eager look in her eyes he relented. Gesturing at the kitchen counter, "Why don't you chop up those carrots for now." He turned back to the lobster pot. Talking to Miss Parker over his shoulder, "It should be done in another half-hour."

Miss Parker went to work chopping the carrots. Those who knew her would be surprised at her culinary skills but when she was in prison, part of her duties involved cooking for the other prisoners.

There, she learned how to prepare meals quickly and efficiently in order to feed hundreds of hungry prisoners. But along with learning to cook, she also learned a lot of details that were stomach churning like seeing prison trustees spitting on the food as they prepared to deliver them to other prisoners locked up in solitary confinement or in the medical wing bed-ridden with some illness like AIDS just because they belonged to different gangs.

Pushing those grim recollections of prison life down, she concentrated on preparing their meals.

Usually with his hotel guests, Ben with a flourish would declare, "Ta da, it's done. One whopping big Maine lobster coming up!" But today was different. Instead it was Miss Parker who let down her mother, involved in an atrocity that seared the nation's soul, and unwanted by Ben as a welcome guest. So, rather than with his usual gusto, he simply declared, "It's done."

Miss Parker looked up with a warm smile which disappeared quickly upon seeing the stern, unsmiling visage on Ben's face. Instead she silently watched him take the lobster pot over to the sink and drained it. While he was placing the lobster and its fixings onto a large plate, Miss Parker concentrated on cutting the tomatoes and cucumbers for the salad.

Eventually all their preparations wound up in the dining room where the rich aromas of freshly cooked food encompassed both Ben and Miss Parker.

Seeing the bounty in front of her, Miss Parker thought, with wonder, that this was the first home cook meal she experienced since before being sentenced to prison.

Ben waited patiently as he watched Catherine's daughter recollect her thoughts. A profound sadness and anger passed through him as he watched her. A waste, he silently raged. A goddamn waste.

He remonstrated himself for being too passive. When Catherine was last here, he should've fought harder to convince her to stay and get away from that murderous son of a bitch who was her husband in name only.

If only. The saddest phrase in the English language. If only he could have saved Catherine. If only she was alive then her daughter would have chosen a different destiny. If only Catherine asked for help, he would have moved heaven and earth to help her.

But it wasn't to be. Catherine lying in a grave, moldering away. Her beloved daughter a convicted criminal. And he, a lonely bachelor with more days behind him than there are in front of him.

He stopped his internal diatribe when he saw Miss Parker glancing at him. In a quiet voice, she asked him, "Shall we start?"

Ben told her, "Yes, Miss Parker. Let's dig in."

For the next hour, both of them concentrated on eating as well as keeping the conversation light. But they knew that the time for serious talk was coming soon but for now both agreed that this wasn't the time or place for it.

Finishing their repast, both full from the feast, they leaned back into their chairs. "Do you want anything else," Ben politely inquired.

"No," Parker told him. She was absolutely stuffed to the gills with the rich food in her. "I'm fine, thank you."

Standing up, Ben gently patted his stomach. "I'm going to take a walk before cleaning up."

Parker also stood up. "I'll get started on the clean up." She started to pick up some of the dishes when Ben's voice made her pause.

"I'll be back in half an hour and I'll clean up the dining table." Holding up a hand to head off her imminent protest, he spoke in a no nonsense voice, "its okay, I got it covered."

Miss Parker was about to object but she saw that Ben was already turned around and heading out the front door. If you think that was the end of it, she said to his retreating back, you're wrong.

Knowing that she had half an hour before he returned, she hurried back to the dining room and started cleaning up the detritus of their dinner. Refrigerating the leftovers and throwing the rest away, Parker placed the dishes, pots, and pans in the dishwasher and turned it on. She was satisfied with herself as she saw she had five minutes to spare before Ben showed up.

A few minutes past the half hour deadline Ben gave her, he showed up back home. After putting away his windbreaker, Ben was rolling his sleeves up while heading towards the dining room when he stopped surprised that everything was already cleaned up and the dining table ready for the next day's meals.

Grumbling and muttering words about headstrong women, he marched into the kitchen. There, he saw Miss Parker was wiping the kitchen counters down. "Miss Parker," speaking loudly, Ben stood where he was, in the kitchen entrance, giving her a gimlet stare.

Setting down the dishrag that she was holding, Parker turned around and gave him a reciprocal stare. She wasn't backing down from him or anyone else for that matter. Not in her past and not now. "Yes, Ben?" she said firmly, knowing that Ben was going to rebuke her.

"I thought I told you that I would take of the dishes?" he stated sternly. Ben wanted Parker to recover from their long flight and adjust to her new environment but it looks like she wasn't going along with his game plan.

"Yes," Parker said, trying to rein in her impatience. She wryly observed that some of her old habits were coming back with a vengeance.

"Then why didn't you go along with it? You know I would have clean things up by myself with no problems at all." Ben was trying to be stern but seeing the headstrong look on her face, reminding him all too much of his Catherine, his resolve was slowly eroding.

Parker mentally debated whether to tell Ben a white lie or the truth. A day after being freed from prison and turning over a new leaf, she settled on the truth. "I decided to ignore your plans and went and cleaned up by myself."

Acknowledging that he wasn't going to get his way, Ben tried to salvage his dignity. "Alright, Miss Parker, I'll go ahead and clean myself up. I'll see you in a while."

As he left the kitchen, she could hear him stomp up the stairs to his room. She let out a big sigh of relief, releasing the tension that she didn't realize she was experiencing. Parker turned back to finish up the rest of her chores before she herself went upstairs to her mother's room. Never in a million years would she call it her room.

Parker was luxuriating in the bathtub enjoying her first bubble bath in over five years. It was sensual to just lie back in the bathtub and absolutely do nothing but soak in the warm water without worrying hearing complaints about taking too long to shower or trying to hurry up or the guards would kick you out of the showers.

She couldn't help thinking about the long hard years she endured in the federal penitentiary. Everything she's experiencing now she compared them to what she went through in prison.

She sighed. Why am I thinking about prison when all I want to do is to forget, she wondered to herself. She closed her eyes and put an effort into not thinking or remembering.

Parker succeeded so well that she woke up with a start. The water in the bathtub was cold and the twilight streaming in through the bathroom window was replaced by the dark signaling nighttime had arrived while she dozed.

She hastily stood up from the bathtub, shivering slightly from the cold water. Grabbing a towel, she wiped herself dry and put on a bathrobe. Parker headed into her bedroom and sat down on the bed.

Parker sat there for a long while looking out at the window into the night. She remembered sitting on the window seat in her bedroom in her old house when sleep eluded her. A desolate look crossed her face. How she missed her house!

It was her sanctuary from the madness of the Centre and the macabre and psychotic people inhabiting that place. Bitterness poured through her. Mad scientists, serial killers, duplicitous fathers were just some of the characters that the Centre attracted or created. Like a black hole, it drew in all the viciousness and ugliness in human nature and cultivated it.

Parker believed that the Centre's darkness could be kept at bay when she was in her house. It lasted for some time until a turning point, as Jarod would point out, happened to her.

Thomas.

When she fell in love with him and told Mr. Parker that she was quitting the Centre and moving to Oregon with Thomas to start a new life, she devoutly believed that she can put the Centre behind and start a new life with her carpenter lover.

The Centre thought otherwise. When she woke up that awful morning to see the bloodied corpse of Thomas with pieces of his skull, brain matter, and blood leaking out of the bullet hole, her illusions died along with him.

The Centre would never let her leave unless she was dead. Oh, she let the bastards including her old man, profess their promise of letting her go when she caught Jarod; when in her heart, she knew that they would never let go of her. She was too damn useful to them.

A useful prisoner with a very long leash. Nevertheless, still a prisoner. Just like Jarod. Until he chose not to become a prisoner anymore.

Until Thomas' death, she was ambivalent about Jarod's continuing freedom from the clutches of the Centre. Half of her wanted to bring him back tied to the hood of one of the Centre's ubiquitous black Ford Crown Victoria's like a big game African hunter. The other half urged him to be forever free and to find his scattered family.

After burying Thomas, she rebelled. In secret. A secret that even Jarod and Angelo didn't know about. She would make sure that Jarod would never be captured by the Centre. Not as long as she lived. She would go through the motions but always missing Jarod by a hairsbreadth.

It was too late for her and Angelo but not for Jarod. Parker vowed that Jarod would never be thrown into another dank cell deep in the bowels of the Centre. That was her revenge on the Centre and the Triumvirate.

After all, she reasoned, she was a Red File just like Jarod and Angelo. She can pretend with the best of the best. Jarod and Angelo. Lyle didn't count. His childhood nurturing by Raines and his foster father, Bowman, made him too twisted to become an effective Pretender.

Jarod intermittently reminded her, during his nocturnal phone calls, that he remembered the little girl who gave him his first kiss, the first hug, the first genuine smile, the first comforting warmth, among some of the firsts that the poor isolated boy desperately yearned for and never found among the adults of the Centre.

She shot back, telling him that the little girl no longer existed, so deal with it before hanging up on him.

That little girl may be dead but her memories still lingered. And those memories were wonderful she finally admitted to herself. Jarod and Angelo were the only friends in the Centre that she had. All the adults had their agendas and none of them included a little girl who was lost and hurting after losing her mother.

They comforted her and listened to her as she poured out her feelings and thoughts to them. Jarod especially. Parker always thought that he can see into her, the real her. The one that daddy never had the time or inclination to see. Momma saw into her but she was already months buried in her grave and she wasn't around anymore.

Jarod.

"Where are you now, Jarod?" she whispered into the suddenly confining room. Unbidden, she got up off the bed and headed towards the window. Opening the latch, she opened the window and let the night breeze blow in.

Seeing that the room was too bright, she headed towards the nightstand and turned off the lamp before returning to the window. Now, she can see the stars twinkling in the night sky.

A childhood memory of her mother telling her that if you wish upon a star, it can become real. "I wish that Jarod and Angelo would have a happy ending for their lives," speaking in a husky voice. Tears were pooling in her eyes as a deep sadness came over her. "And," hesitating, unsure whether she deserved it or not, "maybe some happiness for me, too."

The despondency along with the long exhausting day finally caught up with her. Parker's plan to talk to Ben Miller was forgotten as, with a large yawn, she headed over to her bed.

Pulling back the goose down comforter and bed sheets, she laid down on the soft comfortable pillow. As soon as her head was lying on the pillow, Parker was instantly asleep.

Ben Miller, finishing his ablutions, was going to talk to Miss Parker about the plans she had as well as his own. But as soon as he headed towards to her room, he noticed that there was no lights on.

Quietly, he opened the door. Seeing the sleeping form of the woman on the bed, he stepped forward and looked down on her. The stress and haunted look on her face was gone. At least temporarily.

Without conscious thought, Ben leaned down and kissed her gently on her forehead. "Good night, Miss Parker," Ben spoke barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake her up from a well deserved rest, "sweet dreams." Straightening up, he quickly exited her room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm currently writing the next chapter. It's meandering all over the place and my muse seems to have disappeared. I don't know when I'll post the next chapter. I'm aiming for a couple weeks from now but no guarantees. Please review and let me know what you think about my first attempt at a Pretender fanfic and second fanfic overall. 


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: see chapter 1._

Chapter 7

The sunlight streaming in through the window woke her up. Parker slowly groaned and turned over, away from the bright sunshine. She wanted to get some more sleep but sighed realizing that wasn't going to happen.

Instead, she opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Shit, she thought, it was 9:30am. She never slept this late before in her life.

Muttering a string of oaths, Parker threw the bedcovers away from her and moved to sit up on the bed. Stretching her body to remove the kinks, she yawned loudly. Once done with that, she stood up and headed towards the bathroom to do her morning personal hygiene.

Stepping out of the bathroom, after cleaning up, she headed towards the closet to decide on what to wear for today. Grimacing at the choices, Parker went with an alternating green and white stripe shirt along with matching green Capri pants. As much as she loved and adored her mother, Miss Parker thought Catherine's taste in clothing verged on the blasphemous.

Deciding to stick with the same comfortable sandals she wore yesterday, she left her late mother's bedroom and headed downstairs.

Seeing that Ben wasn't in the kitchen or dining room, she put aside the question of where he was until she got her morning fix of caffeine and something solid in her belly.

Seeing the coffeepot was still half-filled, Parker quickly went and grabbed a mug. She filled the mug up and with no cream or sugar added, she eagerly drank it.

Feeling more awake now that her favorite drug was coursing through her system, she made a mental note to visit the first Starbuck's she see.

Looking around the kitchen, she observed a half-emptied box that contained a variety of muffins. Heading over to see what kinds were left, she eyed a blueberry muffin as well as a chocolate chip muffin. She grabbed them and headed towards the sunlit breakfast nook.

Sitting down in the breakfast nook, she continued to eat the muffins and drink her coffee in peace. Looking around the kitchen, she figured, correctly as it would turn out, that Ben was out and about doing some errands.

Good, she thought. That would give her time to take the dishes out of the dishwasher from last night's dinner and put them away.

Finally finished with her light breakfast, she gulped down the last of her coffee and headed towards the sink. Rinsing the cup out and setting it to dry, she strode over to the dishwasher and opened its door.

It was empty. Ben, she thought. He must have taken them out either last night or this morning while she was asleep. Now they were even.

Sighing, she became conscious of the fact that living here, under Ben's roof, was going to take some adjusting to. This brings to mind of how long her stay would be.

Parker was unsure of the extent of Ben's largesse. She was a guest of his, not a permanent lodger. This was one of the issues she needed to talk to him about.

Looking out the window above the kitchen sink, she saw Ben heading her way. Good, she told herself. Checking the clock, she saw it was almost 11am. There would be plenty of time for some serious discussion. But, pausing as she reflected, it was too early. _Hell, I'm only a day out of prison._

Seeing Ben's gray hair coming out of the doorway, she decided to start off with a greeting. "Good morning, Ben." Let's see how he responds to that, she thought. After the cold and stiff dinner last night, she wanted to test the water as far as Ben's feelings were today.

Giving her a once over, Ben thought she's perky today. Having concluded that he wouldn't bring up his sleepless night, he decided to reciprocate her polite greeting. "Good morning, Ms. Parker. Did you enjoy a good night's sleep?" remembering her sleeping like the dead last night.

"Yes, I did," she responded, surprising herself. The sensual feel of the bed sheets that weren't government issue, the lack of the noise of a prison which never gets totally silent, as well as her emotional state were the causes that led to her to oversleep this morning. "I'm well rested considering how long I've been asleep," she informed him.

And, she told herself, the nightmares didn't disrupt her sleep like they usually did.

Nodding, Ben gestured towards the coffee pot. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No thanks, Ben. I just had a cup already." He's nice, Parker observed. Let's keep it that way.

Silently taking a sip of his hot coffee, Ben was deciding where to start with her today. But before he broached that subject, Miss Parker took the matter out of his hands.

"Ben, I…," she hesitated before looking him in the eyes and deciding to start from scratch. "I need you to drive me to the federal courthouse." She paused, mostly out of embarrassment and shame for this most basic of requests. "I, uh, I need to report to my probation officer. I don't have a driver's license yet and," laughing self-consciously, "no car to boot, too."

Ben chuckled mirthlessly at her request. He knew that this was a problem when he agreed to shelter Parker temporarily but was resigned to being her chauffer for a while. So what he said was, "Don't worry, Miss Parker, it won't be a problem for me to drive you around when you need to."

Parker breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ben."

"When do you report in?" Ben inquired curiously. He didn't know what the procedure was for a parolee to report to her parole officer.

"I haven't called my P.O.," Parker answered him, slipping into prison jargon, "yet but I was planning on calling him after lunch." She started to relax a little bit as their conversation was continuing to be civil and cordial. Just how long it will last was the question, she mused.

"Ok," Ben replied. He continued sipping his coffee as they continued talking. Observing her, he told her, "Let's start preparing for lunch after I finish my coffee. After lunch, call your parole officer. I'll be ready to drive you to the courthouse."

Parker nodded assent. She stood up and headed over to the refrigerator. Looking over her shoulder, she asked Ben, "What do you want for lunch?"

Ben told her what to prepare and by unspoken consent both decided to put off their serious talk later in the future.

So, soon after lunch, Ben and Miss Parker went over to the federal courthouse where she met with her parole officer and went over her reporting in schedule and ensuring that she understood the terms of her parole. After that was done, both did some shopping where Parker got some new clothes and wander around seeing how much things have changed over the last five years.

For the next several weeks, Ben watched as his old friend's daughter overcome cultural shock, slowly adapt to being outside, and getting her life together. During this time he helped her when needed but always kept his distance.

Parker was grateful for Ben's assistance and support. But was uneasily aware that his support wasn't with arms spread wide open.

After a lengthy process with a lot of lawyers, Parker got access to her trust fund so she was able to pay Ben, over his protests, for lodging, getting a new wardrobe, and a Porsche Boxster so Ben can stop serving as her chauffer.

Finally, after a month passed since her release from prison, Parker felt she was ready to move on with her life. She was ready for that talk with Ben. Little did she know that the talk would alter her life.

Squaring her shoulders, she began by praising him. "First, I want to thank you for your hospitality and kindness for letting me stay here." Looking at his neutral eyes, Parker was unsure how he was reacting to her opening phase but without any clues, she plowed on. "I intend to repay you for all you have done for me during my stay here."

Ben waited quietly, only stirring his body when she reached the part of letting her stay at his lodge. But he didn't say anything until Parker stopped.

Looking at her, seeing the spitting image of Catherine, he wanted to soothe her with kind and gentle words, but he promised himself that he would never repeat the same mistake he made with her mother so many years ago.

The time has come when he wouldn't hold back. He already made up his mind after the conversation with Jarod. He made a mistake by not being blunt and honest with Catherine. Ben decided that this time he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"My generosity wasn't out of the goodness of my heart," Ben told her, looking her squarely in the eye. "As I told you at the airport, I was requested to help you. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be sitting here sleeping under my roof, eating my food, much less breathing the same air that I do for what you did."

Parker felt like she was physically punched by Ben. She staggered back until her back encountered the counter behind her. A wave of pain, hurt, and disappoint almost overwhelmed her. A part of her couldn't believe what she just heard.

Ben saw the effects of his words had on Miss Parker. She was struggling to get words out of a speechless mouth. He regretted saying what he had to say but they were the truth. If he had the courage to tell the self-evident truth to Catherine, her premature death might have been averted. He waited silently until Parker recovered before beginning his next verbal assault.

Ms. Parker flinched at Ben's harsh words. Anxious to explain, she repeated to Ben what she told to anyone who bothered to listen to her. "I didn't know, Ben. I didn't know that I was transporting the hijackers to their hideouts." Her eyes, on the verge of tears, pleaded for Ben to believe her, to understand that she thought it was just another routine babysitting job for the Centre.

She saw Ben shook his head. Her hope that he would believe her died at his gesture.

The wretched excuse Ms. Parker used to defend herself for her part in the Sears Tower attack set off the pent up anger that Ben kept in check. Yelling at the still-frozen figure of Ms. Parker, "That doesn't excuse anything! What the hell did you think they were here for? Did you think they were here for a fucking tour?" He slammed both of hands that became fists when his anger took over on to the counter.

The noise of his flesh hitting the counter jarred Ms. Parker out of her immobility. Stiffening her back and exchanging glares with one of her mother's closest friends, she repeated her claim, "I didn't know." Squaring her shoulders, Parker continued, "Daddy told me that the terrorists were guests of the Triumvirate and the Centre was ordered by the Triumvirate to provide assistance to them."

Unbidden, Ben felt a surge of pity towards her. "My god, you're father really did a great job brainwashing you. He made you believe into a perfect toady. Didn't you ever question him about anything?" he queried in exasperation.

She didn't want to answer him because she knew the answer. She never did. Unconsciously, Parker held onto the counter like a life preserver, giving her something to cling to, an illusion of safety. She desperately wished for a drink of water for her suddenly dry mouth. Wetting her dry lips, she spoke to him in an unsteady voice, "I'll pack my things and leave now." Slowly gathering her strength she continued in a much steadier voice, "I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

Ben grunted agreement, "You're right, Ms. Parker. You're not wanted or welcomed here. Not after the part you took in the Sears Tower attack." He shot her a hard and unforgiving glare. He'll never forget the nightmare of watching the Sears Tower collapsing on live television. A helpless spectator to such an atrocity.

Some of the wounds that she thought had slowly healed were ripped open again when Ben brought up the past. Her dormant anger was unleashed as she fought back at his verbal assaults. Like a light switch, Parker shed her defensive attitude and went on the offensive.

Parker decided to hit him where it hurts, just like what he did to her. "What about my mother?" she hissed, glaring at him. Folding her arms in front of her chest, she demanded of him, "What was she to you?"

Ben clenched his jaw as she interrogated him. He dreaded this moment but knew that with everyday that Miss Parker was in his home, she was bound to start asking questions about his relationship with her mother.

"You are your father's daughter. I don't see anything of Catherine in you," he started. "All I see is Mr. Parker," spitting his name out, "in female form."

Parker jerked in response to what he said. "No," rejecting his charge, "I care about people like Momma. I helped people." She said this lamely knowing that the number of time she helped anyone can be counted on one hand.

Ben snorted disbelievingly. Looking at her, "That's hard to accept, Miss Parker. I haven't heard anyone telling me about your charitable side." He could back that up because he avidly read the transcripts from her trial. Parker had no one showing up to be her character witnesses.

Parker shot back. "That's because hardly anyone I know would want to come out to the middle of bumfuck, Maine and talk to you. And," she added, "you still haven't answered my question. What was momma to you?"

She saw Ben standing there, a few feet from her, hands clenched at his sides, jaw muscles working furiously before he finally answered her. "I loved your mother. How much I love her, she and you will never know." With that out, he slumped over the counter, staring at something only he can see.

Parker was about to speak when Ben continued in a voice devoid of emotions. "I hated your father." Regaining his posture, he looked up from the counter and stared at her. "I never understood the hold he had over her. Whatever it was, Catherine never told me."

She saw Ben in a different light with his revelation. There in front of her stood a lovelorn and jealous man who couldn't convince momma to leave daddy to be with him. Cautiously, she ventured to say, "Maybe momma really loved daddy. Did you ever consider that, Ben?"

Parker watched Ben stood stock still then he burst out laughing. It was a pain-filled joyless laughter. His body shook from the laughter, she noted as a sense of unease wound its way through her.

After a couple of minutes of this uncomfortable mirth, Ben finally stopped, pausing to regain his breath. "I don't have to consider it, Parker. Catherine told me herself that she loathed your father. The way he always came home late, knowing that she knew that he was cheating on her; the way he…took advantage of the Centre's female patients, sleeping his way into the Triumvirate." Ben paused to recover from his outburst. Then he resumed where he left, all the while Parker struggled to reconcile what Ben was revealing with what she knew and assumed about her daddy. "She was nothing more than a prize broodmare, a trophy wife. Not a life partner, a soul mate, a lover. None of that mattered to your father."

Finally it became too much for Parker. She snapped at him. "This is all bullshit you're telling me. My momma loved my father, not you." Even as she told him this, she instinctively felt that it was wrong.

Upset, with a burst of emotions plying across his mind, he inadvertently divulged something he was sworn not to reveal. "If only Jarod didn't ask me to take you in.

None of this would have occurred."

"What," Parker gasped. Coming up to Ben, she grabbed him by the shoulders. Locking eyes with him, she was going to find out what he was talking about. "How is Jarod involved with my being here?" She had to know, now that Ben uttered the news that Jarod was involved.

Ben instantly regretted opening his mouth. He distinctly remembered the day Jarod drove up to his home, shocked at Jarod's appearance which quickly faded away when he told Ben why he came and the favor he was asking.

Coming back to the present from Parker's insistent shaking of his shoulders, he roughly removed her arms from his body. "Nothing, Miss Parker. Just the mutterings of an old man." He stepped away from her, desperately hoping that this would make her forget what he just said. It wasn't to be.

Miss Parker recognized Ben's pathetic attempt for what it is. When she got her mind focused on something, she wouldn't let go. At the mention of Jarod, she went into one-track mind overdrive. "How is Jarod involved, Ben?" she almost shouted.

Jarod. Just when she was getting her life into some sort of a routine, he managed to upset it. Typical Pezhead, she sourly thought. But the flip side was that she was overjoyed that he was still watching over her and she could, through Ben, contact him. That was what she intended to get out of Ben, no matter what…

"Where is he, Ben?" she ordered. The urgency was overwhelming her. Desperation warred with her stubborn pride in not letting anyone see weakness in her. "I don't care what he asked of you, but you have to tell me where he is."

She was speaking to his back. Not satisfied with this, she stomped past him to look Ben in the eyes again. Parker saw that he was miserable. He was caught and she knew it. She made a snap decision. "Once you tell me, I'll leave and you won't have to deal with me anymore, Ben." There. She pulled her hole card and put it on the table.

Ben was torn. He promised Jarod that Parker would never know his role in helping her adjust to post-prison life but because of a stupid mental mistake she found out. Now, with the implacable determination on Miss Parker's face, he was cornered. Unfortunately, he knew how this would end. "Alright, Miss Parker," sighing wearily. He was defeated and worn out. Having Catherine's daughter under his roof was more than he thought he could handle when he agreed with Jarod's request. "He lives in College Park, Maryland." Heading back to the kitchen counter, he grabbed a scratch pad and jotted down Jarod's address and phone number. "Here," thrusting the piece of paper at the silent and determined woman by his side, "his address and phone number."

Parker took the paper. She was surprised that her hand didn't shook. Here, in her hand, was proof that Jarod still care about her and still alive. Ideas swirled through her mind. Should she call Jarod now, write a letter to him, see him in person….

Struggling to regain his dignity and composure, he looked at Miss Parker. She was in her own world. Seeing that she was staring down at the note, he couldn't help feeling that there was more to the relationship between Jarod and Parker. Regretfully, he hoped that they won't wind up like he and Catherine did.

Catching her attention with a loud "Miss Parker" he told her, "I'm taking you up on your offer. I want you out of here as soon as possible." Having told her to leave, Ben walked out of the kitchen.

His words stung Parker even though she was the one who made the offer. It always seems to turn out this way. Just when she was on the verge of gaining some peaceful stability, even that rarest of things, happiness, someone would take it away.

Squaring her shoulders, she went upstairs to her bedroom. Grabbing the luggage cases that she bought a couple of weeks ago, she began packing. After an hour passed, she was done.

Ben didn't show up at her room to help in bringing down her baggage. Parker hid her disappointment but in the light of what transpired between them earlier, it was no surprise. So, she managed to lug them the three pieces of luggage, though it had to take her two trips to accomplish it.

She was ready to leave. The note with Jarod's address was in her pants pocket. Despite the fact that she memorized his address, she wasn't letting it leave her presence.

She was eager to go down to Maryland. All that was left was to say goodbye to Ben and, in spite of their contretemps, express her thanks for his hospitality.

Ben watched from his office as Parker was putting her luggage into the trunk of her car. He waited until she was done before he headed outside. Coming down the front porch, he gazed at her. She was as beautiful as her mother but the eyes were different. Where Catherine had a sparkle, even when she was at her lowest, Miss Parker had a wall which he and, most likely everyone else, never got past.

Finally, he stopped in front of her. Silent as a statue, he watched Miss Parker who stood by the driver side door of her car.

Miss Parker spoke first. "Thank you, Ben for letting me stay here and for all you've done for me." She meant it. If not for Ben, she would have taken longer to get back on her feet. Regretting the way this had to end, Parker nevertheless wanted to be nice to the man who loved her mother. "I won't forget all you have done for me." There was nothing that she can say. Anything else might have opened more wounds, accusations, and finger pointing.

Ben took in what she said. "You're welcome, Miss Parker." Carefully picking his words, to avoid upsetting them further, he told her, "Have a safe trip, Miss Parker. I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for." He didn't want the rift to widen any further than it already was.

Parker bit her lip. Nodding jerkily, she opened the driver's door and stepped into her car. "I hope so, too, Ben. I hope so, too."

She turned the ignition on and the Boxster started. Just as she was about to put the car into drive and pull out of the driveway, Ben put his hands out.

"Wait," Ben said. He couldn't let her go without telling her his last secret. No more secrets would he keep for the ghosts of the past. Especially the Parker ghosts. "I have something to tell you."

Puzzled at this strange outburst, she turned off the engine. Without bothering to leave her Porsche, Parker looked up at his bland face. "What do you want to tell me?"

Ben sighed again. It seems that it almost was becoming a regular thing every time he had an encounter with Miss Parker. Looking down at the curious expression on her face, he faltered in his resolution to tell her of his suspicion.

She prodded him when he hesitated, unsure whether to go on or not. "Come on, Ben, tell me what's going on. I don't have all the time in the world." Parker needed to call her parole officer after getting a room at the closest hotel that she was moving down to Maryland right away since he wasn't the easiest person to get in touch with.

Ben finally told her what he always suspected but could never prove. "Catherine loved someone else." He rushed on as he saw that Parker was about to object. "It wasn't me or your father."

Skepticism and confusion were her first thoughts. Then collecting herself, she expressed her displeasure. "Ben, I don't like the thought that you're slandering my mother. She loved daddy. There was no one else. Got it?"

Ben shook his head. "I can't prove it but every time she came up here and we started talking, she left hints that there was someone else in her life." Disappointment shown in his eyes as he felt the sting of Catherine's love for another man alight again.

Unsure of how to respond upon seeing the conviction in Ben's face, Parker did the only thing that she can do. Turning her face back to the driveway in front of her, she flicked a glance towards. "Goodbye, Ben." She turned the ignition on, starting the engine.

With a sharp press on the accelerator, she left Ben behind staring at her. A lonely and sad man.

* * *

**A/N:** This was the toughest chapter to write so far. Several times I wanted to give up since I couldn't seem to get to where I wanted Miss Parker but I finally got there. I'm not satisfied with this chapter but it's the best that I can do. Now, we can move forward to future chapters. JMP shippers better buckle up! It's going to be a rocky ride once they get together. Please read and review. Thanks! 


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: see chapter 1_

Chapter 8

Parker spent a frustrating week before being allowed by her parole officer to move down to Maryland. While cooling her heels in the cheap hotel that she called home, waiting for her p.o. to transfer her case file down to Maryland, her anxiety rose steadily as the thought that Jarod might disappear almost overwhelmed her.

The years of running and chasing and the attendant memories of him escaping from her clutches, and later, her deliberately letting him get away fed that anxiety. Parker knew in her gut that if Jarod really wanted to disappear he had the talent and know how to make it happen. The question that obsessed her was did Ben called Jarod to inform him of her coming down to see him. And if he did, what would Jarod do.

The temptation to call Jarod telling him that she was coming nearly consumed her. There were several times in the middle of the night, that she had her fingers on the numbers ready to dial his telephone number. She grinned momentarily at the thought that she would inflict on him what he did to her, waking him up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night like he did to her all those years ago.

Shaking her head and blowing air out of her mouth, she curled herself on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Parker glanced over at the nightstand. The alarm clock read 3:15am.

Exhaling noisily, she leaned back against the headrest. Her nightmares were giving her another rough night trying to get some rest. The brief respite from them while staying at Ben's was over. Now, almost every night in the cheap hotel room she was assaulted by them.

The most recent were a brand new addition to add to her inventory of nightmares. She wondered mordantly which one this fell under. Guilt induced or fear driven. Damn, Parker said to herself, annoyed at thinking she had such a long list of nightmares that she had to categorize them.

Unbidden, she recalled the last nightmare that had her waking up hyperventilating and sobbing.

_She was parked down the street from Jarod's home. It was located in a leafy, quiet neighborhood full of young children playing with their parents keeping a loving eye on them. _

_Parker was about to step out of her car and head over to Jarod's house and knock on the door when a minivan pulled up into the driveway of his house. Dreading what was to come and helpless to prevent the scene from happening, she sat there motionless._

_The side doors of the minivan opened and out came two girls yelling and screaming exuberantly followed by a golden Labrador retriever scurrying to follow them. They were running towards the front door with happy grins on their faces and each of them carrying a bag of candy._

_Then Parker's eyes were drawn to the driver's door. It was opening. Suddenly, Parker's heart began beating faster. Jarod's wife, she thought incredulously, as she stepped out of the minivan._

_Sunlight burnished the flaming red hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. A warm, loving smile was flashed at her daughters as she gently scolded them to slow down. _

_Then the front door opened. There in the doorway stood Jarod. He was the Jarod that Parker remembered before…_

_The handsome brunette man with a loving and caring soul. Parker caressed his face with her steel-blue eyes. How she wanted to go up to him and just kissed those lips of his and tell him what he always longed to hear from her ever since they first met._

_The expression on his face sent a stab of pain so great that she felt it in the real world, not just here in this nightmare of hers._

_The love and delight in his eyes and the almost blinding smile he gave to his two daughters stunned her. His girls wrapped their arms around his legs as they looked up laughingly at their father's face. Awkwardly, he gave his girls a peck on their foreheads since he was cradling a baby in his arms. Somehow in this nightmare Parker understood that it was his newborn son._

_Then, his wife finally came up to the rest of her family. Jarod gave her a heart stopping kiss that went much longer and deeper than planned but this was a couple who were madly in love and so comfortable with each other._

_Parker can see the delight and happiness in the redhead's eyes as they parted. She smiled at Jarod and gently took her son away from him. She looked down at the baby boy and that special look a mother reserve just for her children alone shone down on the sleeping boy._

_Jarod hugged his wife and children and tenderly herded them inside into their home._

_As he was about to turn and follow his family inside, he saw her. Parker tensed up but was still frozen to where she sat in her car. She wanted to say something, to reach out to him, to touch him. _

_Without an expression on his face and looking right through her, he turned his back on her and closed the door._

_He didn't acknowledge her, didn't recognize that she existed, and didn't accept the fact that there was a life long connection between them._

She woke up violently then. Hyperventilating, trying futilely to prevent the tears from coursing down her cheeks, she was so frighten that it might be real and with the attendant fear that is how it will turn out when she finally meet up with Jarod.

In her old Centre persona, this would have been the perfect excuse to drown her fears and insecurities with a bottle of 12 year old scotch. The smoke flavored drink would flow smoothly down her throat, gently burning its way down to her stomach.

The scotch would have a perfect companion in a Marlboro cigarette. Not for her the dainty Virginia Slims or any other cigarette designed for women. If she wanted to play with the big boys and impressed her ever demanding daddy, she would smoke a man's man cigarette. Never mind that it would probably give her lung cancer in her latter years.

But that was the old Miss Parker. Now, the sadder and wiser version just sat there on the bed mulling over the meaning of her latest nightmare and deciding what to do about it.

Parker wished that there was a window that she can sit next to. In her old house and at Ben's she found some peace by looking outside at the stars and the quiet comfort of the darkness. Here, in her hotel room, the only window looked out onto a dreary, lifeless swimming pool starkly lit up by sodium vapor security lights. Ugh, she rather looked at the tasteless print mounted on one of the hotel room walls. But then glancing over at the print, she snorted. No ruminations to be found there either.

Breathing out a loud sigh, she slid out of her bed and headed over to the mini-refrigerator. Opening the door, she reached in and grabbed a bottle of water. Breaking the seal, she took several gulps of water to quench her thirst. Then, with water in hand, she headed over to the battered writing table.

Turning the light on, with one of the two light bulbs burned out, she grabbed the notepad and tore off a page of it. Then using the pen that was lying on the desk, Parker conducted a brainstorming session.

She jotted a list of things to do or _ought to do_, snickering to herself. This took several minutes. After she wrote them all down, she stood up from the old chair and stretched. Feeling the tight muscles relax, she sat back down and looked the list. Now, she started numbering them, prioritizing them by their importance to her.

Feeling her eyelids starting to droop and yawning repeatedly, Parker quickly wrapped up what she was doing. She turned off the light and headed back to her bed.

Lying down and pulling the covers over, she glanced at the alarm clock. Almost 5am. She decided she would sleep in. After all, she had no job and nothing else to do. Finally, sleep embraced her.

Once her parole officer told her she could go ahead and move down to Maryland, she didn't linger any second longer than necessary. She quickly paid off the hotel bill and left the parking lot with screeching tires and burnt rubber hanging in the air.

Continuously fighting her impatience and worried about speed traps in one stoplight burgs along the way, she obeyed the posted speed limit until she hit the interstate highway.

She drove fast but not recklessly fast. Pushing her Porsche she ate up the miles. Stopping only for gas, rest room breaks, and, not bothering to stop her car for food, instead preferring fast food places with drive thru windows, she made good time. Maryland was getting closer with every passing minute. But there was one detour that demanded her attention. Even Jarod had to be pushed back for this one.

Finally, she stopped. Her body was punished for sitting in the same cramped position for the last several hours. Fatigue was warring with her desire to cross off one of her to do items.

She looked up and saw the sign. It read "Welcome to Blue Cove".

Admitting to herself that she was no longer an energetic twentysomething, she found a faceless motel, the likes a traveler see across the country, and checked in.

After checking in and throwing her baggage on the floor, she crawled into her bed and crashed. In the morning, she would confront some long time ghosts of the past.

Waking up, taking a quick shower, and grabbing some boiled eggs and muffins from the continental breakfast offered by the motel, she checked out and drove to confront the first ghost.

The house stood in the same location but everything else had changed. It was painted differently. A bland looking beige now. The neighborhood has grown, making it looked cramped and hemmed in. The sign over the porch welcoming visitors to the Blue Bonnet Bed and Breakfast Inn was an obscenity as far as she was concerned. That was where Tommy died, she fumed. The new owners should have shown more respect but they didn't.

She parked opposite her house. No, she mentally corrected herself, her former house. The old pain came back when she remembered what happened after she was convicted.

Ryan Chang, the lawyer that Jarod recommended for her, got the best sentence that he could for her. He told her if it weren't for the incriminating DSAs plus the seized data from the various Blue Boxes which the Homeland Security Department captured while Jarod was leading the raid on the Centre, she would most likely have faced several years probation and a stiff fine. _Thanks, Jarod._

Instead, she got five years plus five years of probation once she got out. And she _only_ got five years because Ryan was a damn good lawyer. He was one of the best that Parker ever worked with. But not even he could prevent what happened next.

Since the Centre was labeled both a terrorist and a organized crime organization, under the Patriot and the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Acts, her house and any other properties of hers were seized by the US government. Helpless to do anything about it, she could only listen in disbelief and shock as Ryan gently broke the news to her describing how the US Marshals auctioned off her house to a retired couple who planned on turning the house into a bed and breakfast inn.

When Ryan went to the disposition of her parent's mansion, the shock turned to anger. She suddenly stood up from her chair and threw the telephone handset against the bulletproof window that separated her from Ryan. Yelling obscenities and grabbing the plastic chair and slamming it several times at the window trying to get to Ryan, who was target of her rage, Parker was subdued by the guards in the meeting room.

Or tried to subdue. Parker fought her guards. She clawed, bit, and hit them. The enormity of what was happening to her hit like a ton of bricks and the only defense against that realization was what she learned at an early age from daddy. Do it to them before they do it to you.

But daddy wasn't there to protect her. Eventually one of the guards who rushed over had a Taser gun. Swiftly, her struggle was over as she was jolted by the surge of electricity coursing through her body. Nothing before or since did she experienced something like that. Parker felt like she was dying. She struggled to breathe and trying to stop her muscles from spasming.

Ryan Chang, her lawyer and the immediate cause of her outburst, could only watch helplessly as the guards took her away to the prison infirmary. What he saw, he reported back to Jarod who could only sadly shake his head.

As Parker recovered in the infirmary, she realized, intellectually, that she had no input over whom successfully bidded on her parent's mansion but what triggered her temper was the sheer banal outcome of her parent's mansion.

Daddy's next door neighbor was new to Blue Cove and was totally clueless about the Centre's business until he read it on the internet. This was nothing extraordinary since he was a multimillionaire who made his riches in the information technology field.

But he was young, egotistical, and vain. So this twenty six year old made the successful bid on the Parker mansion and promptly had it torn down so he could expand his estate.

Memories of growing up in the mansion were torn down by the uncaring bulldozers. The sounds of childhood laughter fading under the cacophony of jackhammers, and the trees and lawns that she used to play in paved over with cement and asphalt. All gone with no tangible evidence that there was once a home there with a family, a troubled and disturbed one, but nevertheless a family living in it.

Once Parker was sufficiently healed and released from the infirmary, she was released into disciplinary segregation. This was her formal punishment for fighting her guards.

Parker was to learn, much too late, that there was also an informal punishment meted out by the guards themselves for daring to attack some of their own.

So what happened was that one night while she was asleep, her prison's SWAT unit, also known as the Goon Squad, as they were called by both the other guards and prisoners alike, punished her by rushing into her cell and basically beat the crap out of her. But the beating was carried out by professionals who've meted out this kind of punishment many times. They would inflict the maximum amount of pain while leaving the minimum amount of bruisings on her body.

Which was exactly happened to her. One moment she was sleeping, the next moment she woke up disoriented, to feel numerous gloved fists and padded nightsticks landing punches and strikes on her torso, arms, and legs. No mark would mar her face. It would've invited too questions from the prison administration which didn't want to know about or investigate incidents like this.

The other prisoners in her wing knew that this would happen but they kept quiet out of the very real fear that if they told Parker what would happen, they too would receive a visit from the Goon Squad. Consequently, they pretended not to hear her muffled screams and pleas as the beating continued.

When the Goon Squad eventually finished their payback, they left a battered Parker lying weeping on her bunk, her body curled into a fetal position. She couldn't move from the pain and abuse visited upon her body. All she could remember from the painful haze were the distinct unfeeling words spoken into her ears. "Do not fight your guards." Nightsticks to the soles of her feet. "Do not challenge your guards." Fists to her stomach. "Do not defy your guards." Nightsticks to her breasts.

Parker turned her head and leaned it on the steering wheel. She closed her eyes as those early days in prison came roaring back. It's funny how something will trigger a memory, she ruminated. Her mind's eye replayed again what happened after the beating.

Miss Parker whimpered through the rest of the night. Curled into a fetal position in a futile effort to ward off the pain, she begged the question of why her. How did she wound up in a such a place? _Because you chose to stay with the Centre,_ her barely alive conscience taunted her.

But she ignored it. This was the Centre's Miss Parker. Daddy's pride and joy. The role model for all the other Centre employees. Cold, heartless, and with a chip the size of Mount Everest on her shoulder, she wouldn't show the guards any weakness.

Agonizingly, she slowly unfolded herself and got up from the thin mattress. Sitting there on the edge of the concrete bunk, Parker gasped harshly for several minutes as she tried to bring the pain to something manageable.

Once she can feel the pain was bearable, Parker shambled over to the sink and turned the cold water faucet on. She very carefully leaned over the stainless steel sink and splashed water over her face.

Then, she grabbed a wash cloth and wet it down before lifting her white t-shirt and started examining her injuries. They were good, she told herself. The Centre trained part of her expressed professional admiration for the Goon Squad. They were good. As good as Sam and Willie, the best sweepers for this kind of physical punishment.

Using the wash cloth as a substitute ice bag, she gently pressed it on the worst of the areas of her body. Occasionally, she would hiss or groaned in pain as she found the worst areas.

By the time breakfast arrived, she managed to ignore the pain and pretend all was well. The guards who delivered the food were surprised that she was able to come over to the cell door and picked up the tray.

Word got back to the prison guards supervisors who decided that Parker didn't learn the lesson that was meted out to her. Parker's pride, nurtured by daddy, led to more unfortunate circumstances in prison.

She would learn that after breakfast was done. Since being incarcerated in disciplinary segregation meant Parker could only leave her cell for an hour, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. This is where the guards would teach the lesson that eventually that even a stubborn person as Miss Parker learned.

Upon exiting the cell, she was shackled by the guards and forced to amble along to a sterile room where three female guards would watch while the fourth one would conduct a body cavity search and forcing Parker to lift her tongue looking for contraband materials.

Of course, there was no contraband items. It was a lesson in humiliation and degradation. All to impart to Parker a very important lesson.

She was a nobody inside the walls of the prison that would be her home for the next five years. She was no one special who have a daddy that can protect her. Parker was not a high ranking member of a powerful organization.

It would take almost five months but Parker finally absorbed their lesson. In fact, these moderately paid civil servants made her do what Raines, Lyle, Cox, Brigitte, and the rest of the scum of the Centre and the Triumvirate couldn't do. They made her cringed. She did what they ordered her to do. She didn't fight her guards. She didn't challenge her guards. And she didn't defy her guards.

Parker's snapped out of her reverie of her prison life by the sound of a loud, contralto voice. A black girl on a bike stood parked next to her. "Are you alright, ma'am?" asked the girl.

Parker gave a shaky smile and ran her right hand through her brunette eye. "Yes, I am, young lady. I was just tired and closed my eyes for a few minutes," she reassured the girl.

"Okay," replied the girl, who pedaled down the street, already dismissing the strange lady from her mind.

Parker briefly watched the girl ride off until forcing her eyes back to the bed and breakfast inn.

It was time to say goodbye to this stop on her tour of the past. Slowly, she lifted her right hand and touched the fingers to her lips. Then she lowered her right hand and blew a kiss to the house that was a refuge from the madness of the Centre, where she allowed her heart to love someone, and the place where her momma gave her a place to roam free before the world became a colder and crueler place.

Starting the engine and putting her car in gear, she drove away, resisting the temptation to keep the house in the rearview mirror for as long as possible.

On to the next ghost, she wearily thought.

The next stop was a brief one where she didn't even bother to turn off the engine. She slowed her Porsche to barely above the pace of a walk, glaring at the immaculately maintained landscape with the carefully trimmed hedges, the blooming rose bushes, and the towering trees.

How dare the place look so beautiful when it should be an ugly memorial to a insensitive clod who didn't respect what the Parker family endured in their mansion?

But she was a helpless spectator and what she once saw on a DSA came roaring back to her. _Life goes on_, her father said upon being informed of momma's supposed murder.

Yeah, she sniffed. You can always go back to your mistresses or raping defenseless patients deep in the bowels of the Centre.

She jerked. Where did those thought come from?

Grinding her teeth, she remembered what Ben accused her father of. Like a slow acting poison, it took its time to show up. What didn't surprise her was the sinking sensation that what Ben told her was the truth, in spite of her heated defense of daddy.

Growling at herself, she drove off, leaving burn marks on the street. Parker couldn't wait to get the hell out of the area.

On the next to last stop of the haunted tour, Parker got out of the car this time. She wanted to see with her own eyes the actual proof that the Centre was actually gone.

She walked along one of the paths that led to the heart of the Centre. They were the only physical remnants of the Centre facility now.

Parker thought back to the arguments that the talking heads and the victim families had over what to do with the Centre complex. Some wanted to preserve it as a symbol of home grown evil. Others wanted to tear it down, to blot out this stain upon the country. And then were those who wanted to convert it into something good and decent.

Ultimately, the side that wanted to tear down the Centre won. Within months, after Jarod's raid, the government had its Army Corps of Engineers destroy it.

Carefully placed explosives were set throughout all the sub-levels, the ventilation shafts, and the outlying facilities. Then, with the victims families, politicians, and gawkers watching on, as well as the unblinking eyes of the tv cameras broadcasting this to the world, including to an interested prisoner in a federal penitentiary and a pretender on the government payroll, the explosives were detonated.

With a panoply of smoke, dust, and flying dirt the Centre disappeared forever. After the effects of the explosion dissipated, the victims' families were allowed onto the site that caused so much pain and grief for them. In a symbolic act, they were each given a handful of salt, which they scattered over the ground. There will be no more evil growing on this plot of earth.

Now, with Parker walking barefooted through the carefully manicured landscape, she looked out at the Atlantic Ocean. For such a repugnant organization like the Centre to have such a beautiful view like watching the Sun rising each morning was offensive to her.

There were scattered here and there beachcombers, children, and couples walking, running, or bicycling. Miss Parker recollected a girlish fancy where she imagined Jarod and her walking hand in hand along the beach, picking up seashells and putting them to their ears listening to the sound of the ocean, and carefree laughter permeating the ears with nothing to worry about and the future ahead of them full of promises.

She stopped and sat down on a grassy knoll. Parker inhaled the salty air coming in on an ocean breeze. It was pure and sweet. She brought her ever present water bottle up to her mouth and took a couple of swallows.

Parker stared at the plastic bottle for a moment. It was, she reflected, a different kind of bottle that she was holding. Daddy's little girl would have been toting a whisky bottle and drinking straight from it now to numb the pain and buried the memories.

Whatever she is know was absolute in not partaking anymore of alcohol and nicotine. Miss goody two shoes, smirking to herself. If only the late and unlamented gang from the Centre could see her now.

Thinking of whisky brought the memories of daddy to the fore. This sure was a damn trip down memory lane Parker groused. But no evasion or denial of those memories. Not like she did before Jarod brought down the Centre. She'll face each of them whenever they sneaked up on her.

Daddy. Hard charging, hard living, and hard hearted. Ashes of the love for her father warred with the ire of being manipulated and deceived by him. Mr. Parker was her lifeline after momma left them. For a lifeline, daddy was barely adequate. Too busy seeking and preserving his power and prestige, he neither had the time nor inclination to comfort his distraught and traumatized daughter.

The only lessons he imparted to a eager to please girl terrified of losing her only last living relative, or so she thought at the time, was to start feeding lies about Jarod to her, preparing her to inherit the Parker legacy, and turning her into his image of the perfect subservient Centre employee.

Leaning forward with her arms wrapped around her legs, she let the breeze flow through her hair which streamed behind her shoulders. The sounds of seagulls gliding overhead belied a tranquil scene as more feelings came to the fore regarding daddy.

Parker wondered why kept picking at the scabs that covered her wounds that daddy inflicted on her. _Daddy, daddy, who are you?_ she pleaded silently. _Was it true that you were a adulterer, a rapist, a murderer? Why did you try to pimp me? To Jarod of all people?_

A steady stream of tears left their salty tracks down her cheeks. Parker let them fall undisturbed. She continued her internal dialogue against an absent father. _I believed what you told me about Jarod, that I should stay away from him, that he no longer wanted to see me. But they were all lies weren't they? When he escaped from the Centre and started to call me and leave me clues, you did everything in your power to reinforce your lies about him._

The Sun was warm on her skin. A beautiful, cloudless day. A peaceful day. Something that Parker couldn't enjoy right now or even register as the ghost of daddy continued to haunt her. _I should have listened to Angelo. He was trying, in his own strange way, to tell me that Jarod missed me and wondered why he couldn't see me anymore. _

Angelo. Timmy. Timothy. A boy stolen from his parents just like Jarod. A boy who had different names but with a singular benevolent soul. The man who gave up his only chance to be cured of the effects of Raines' cruel experiment to save another boy who also underwent Raines' tender treatment.

Her body shook with agonized realization as it dawned on her that Jarod and Angelo were her true friends in the finest description of that word. Friends. She looked up unseeing as the tears flowed in a torrent that they were there, always there, for her if only she grasped what a priceless gift they offered her.

She was blind and deaf and dumb but not mute. Seeking daddy's approval, Parker picked up and eagerly parroted the derogatory nicknames the sweepers and the other support staff gave to Jarod and Angelo. Lab rat, freak, Cousin It, wonder boy….

Daddy never used those terms. They were beneath him but his actions spoke volumes. Jarod and Angelo would die in the joyless cells beneath the Centre once their usefulness ended. He didn't need to call them names to dehumanize them, to reduce them to nothing more than tools that were useful until they were disposed of when they were no longer needed.

After wiping her bloodshot eyes and wiping the snot running down her nose with a handkerchief, Miss Parker slowly stood up. Absently brushing sand off her black jeans, she listened to the surf gently lapping the beach.

One last understanding while Miss Parker was there. Something that she was going to force Jarod to listen to. Yes, her family was fucked up. Her parents were cheating on each other. Lies were spoken and believed in her dysfunctional family. Self-deception seemed to be a genetic trait on both sides of her feckless family.

But, Jarod, she would explain, momma and daddy were my family. Mine. I can't pick my family. I can't stop loving them no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise. You don't understand the blind spots members of a family can have for each other. With sadness, Parker would continue to clarify for him. You were kidnapped at such a young age and growing up in the grotesque atmosphere of the Centre that you never comprehended what family dynamics were like. You never had a chance.

Spinning away from the sight of the beach and hurrying towards her car, she prayed that Jarod would give her one more chance to set things right between them.

One last stop, Jarod, she promised. Then I'm coming to you.

Miss Parker gently laid the bouquets of flower on both graves. Slowly, she looked down at the headstones bearing the names of Catherine Parker and Thomas Gates. Two people who loved her. One killed trying to save her. One killed because he wanted to take her away from the Centre.

Her mother and her lover. Side by side they lay, resting for eternity. Emotionally spent from her sojourn on the beach, Parker just stood there marshalling her thoughts.

She looked around. The tall elm trees shaded their graves, the grass beautifully maintained, flowers dotting the cemetery. Like the beach, the cemetery was a beautiful place. Here, the cemetery was serene, a hushed environment designed to help console the grief stricken as they paid their final respects for those that they loved.

Parker curled her lip. She was far from serene. Ben's suspicions ate at her like acid, slowly dissolving the image she built of her mother. The other thing that took away any sense of serenity from Miss Parker was the recognition that things might not have been that rosy between Tommy and her.

She squeezed her eyes closed and brought a hand up to press the bridge of her nose. She sighed deeply. Opening her eyes and dropping her hand, she looked again at the gravesites.

Opening her mouth, she spoke out loud. Speaking to Catherine first, she said, "Momma, Ben revealed some ugly things to me. He suspected that you were in love with someone other than daddy. I wanted you to know that if it is, then I'm happy for you."

She stopped for a moment. It was tough to go on since if she accepted what Ben said, and she did, than it told her that her parents' marriage was a failure.

After running her left hand through her shoulder length brunette hair, she continued. "I don't know if this Inner Sense that the Centre believe that I possess is working correctly or not, but I believed Ben. I also believed, now, that the other things he claimed that you told him were also true."

A single tear rolled down her right cheek. "Daddy is a monster," she whispered. "Momma, I wanted to shout at Ben that he was lying but something within stopped me." Staring at a spot that only she can see, she added, "From what I've learned while in prison, from Ben, and what Jarod forced me to see at the Centre, daddy is a monster."

With the repetition of those words, Miss Parker slowly sank down to her knees. Bent forward slightly, she looked at the name of her dead mother. She questioned those granite letters, "Am I monster, too? Is there good in me, momma?"

Rationally, she knew that there would be no answers forthcoming but secretly wanted them. But there were would be no answers to her question today. She would have to find her answers on another day.

As the unanswered questions hung in the air, Miss Parker shifted her body to look over at Tommy's headstone.

The long days and nights in prison, with too much time on her hands and, in a peculiar way, living in a monastic atmosphere, she thought long and hard about her love affair with Tommy.

Oh, yes, she was happy with him. He was a wonderful lover, kind and considerate towards her, and simple in his wants and needs.

But that was the problem. He was simple. She was complicated. Romantics would gush about how opposites attract. But reality would rear its ugly head. In most cases, opposites are just that, opposites. Living together long enough, the opposite attributes that the other possesses would change from endearing to annoying to unbearable which, ultimately, would lead to the end of the relationship.

Parker leaned over to pull some errant weeds from his grave. Leaning back after taking care of them, she uttered out loud a declaration, "I will always love you, Tommy but I don't if know if we would have made it work in the long run."

Standing up and straightening her white blouse, she murmured, "Even if the Centre had let me go and move with you to Oregon, they would find something that they wanted from me and they don't take no for answer if I refuse to do something for them." She hesitated because she didn't want to hurt Thomas even though he was already dead. Though she vowed upon being released from prison to confront her past and be more honest with herself and those around her, Parker stood frozen for a long time mentally debating with herself whether to continue or not. Eventually, honesty won out.

"Tommy, doubtlessly I would have been bored out of my mind if I stayed with you in Oregon. Oh, I would have stayed with you for at least two to three years before the novelty of being a carpenter's lover wore out. Then…" She stopped, the words trickling away.

An insight came to her in that cemetery. A day of revelations, Parker mused. The beach, now here. She crossed her arm and walked a few steps to loosen up her leg muscles.

A carpenter's lover. Not a carpenter's wife. A grim line formed around her mouth. It would have failed because she wouldn't become Tommy's wife. There was only man she wanted to be a wife to.

Jarod's.

The roots of this desire to become Jarod's wife was planted on that fateful day when she was introduced to Jarod. Something sparked between them when they held their hands up to each other. Even that physical barrier that stood between them couldn't prevent that connection from being forged.

She went forward to Tommy's headstone. Gently and reverently she traced her fingers along the words spelling out his name. Because of his murder, he would forever remain that handsome man who eased past her formidable defenses into her heart and won her love.

He died loving her and knowing that she returned his love. That was what comforted Parker. He wouldn't live long enough to know that her heart was given to another man when she was a child, that the simple life wasn't enough for a long term relationship, and that the Centre would have found a way to tear them apart.

Jarod. She smiled a tight, little smile. He was the one who introduced Tommy to her. Knowing at that time that she wouldn't admit that she loved him, he found someone that she could love and bring some happiness and warmth to her cold, lifeless soul.

Jarod loved her selflessly. He sacrificed his own love for her just to see her happy and smile like the way she used to smile before it all went to hell.

Standing up, Parker glanced down at Tommy's grave one more time. "I love you, Thomas Gates. Always believe that."

Walking to a spot where she can look at both graves one last time, she paused. Parker knew she would be back many times in the future but for now, she reached a turning point.

She was putting to rest her ghosts from the past. This was the last stop on her haunted tour and she wanted to say the words that would marked the end of a phase in her life and the beginning of another.

"Goodbye, Momma. Goodbye, Tommy. I love you both forever."

Turning around and walking towards one of the service roads that would lead her to the parking lot, she didn't look back not once. The past was behind her now. The future beckoned and she didn't want to waste any more time being haunted from ghosts of her past.

Gripping the sides of the toilet, Parker vomited up her breakfast. Bits of sausage, eggs, and muffin landed in the water. She felt the orangey taste of the cup of orange juice she drank earlier. After heaving up her coffee, too, Parker unsteadily rose to her feet and staggered over to the sink.

She turned the faucet to let the cold water flowing. Grabbing a cup, she let it fill halfway before hurriedly taking a swig to rinse out the bitter, vile taste in her mouth. Next, she drank several gulps of the cool refreshing water. Her stomach was a little relaxed now.

Parker cursed herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw a mess looking back at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a textbook image of what a "bad hair day" is, and her jaws clenched.

Forcefully, she relaxed her jaws. She groaned. This wasn't how she planned on presenting herself when she finally show up on Jarod's doorsteps.

Last night, she tossed and turned all night. She couldn't sleep at all with myriad thoughts continuously popping up in her head. Her stomach decided to contribute its part to making her night a miserable experience. It was so tight that she had to get up and walk around her spartan hotel room several times to relax it.

Then to top if off, she decided to have room service bring her breakfast. That was a big mistake as she looked at her disheveled appearance.

Leaving the bathroom, she dragged herself to the lone chair in the hotel room. Collapsing into it, she put her head in her hands and groaned out loud thinking back on what happened the last couple of days.

After leaving the cemetery, she drove the rest of the day and most of the night until she finally reached College Park, Maryland. Parker was running on caffeine and adrenaline which were steadily was losing their effects on her.

She wanted to give in to her impatience and drive straight towards Jarod's house. The only problem with was she didn't where the hell it was.

Pounding the steering wheel in frustration, she growled out loud, muttering unintelligible curses. In the end, she listened to her rational voice and headed towards a Hyatt that she saw off the highway.

She checked in, pissed off the bellboy with a cheap tip, and kicked her luggage in frustration.

Parker was anxious to get to Jarod right away but her stamina was finally shot. The long road trip plus her detour in Blue Cove drained her physically and emotionally. She was still worried that Ben called Jarod and she would show up to an empty house just like during their "you run, I chase" years.

She fell back on to the king size bed. Closing her eyes, she rested intending to lie down for a few minutes before changing and heading downstairs to use the hotel's business center where she can print out directions to Jarod's house.

The few minutes turned into a two hour nap. Her foul mood didn't improve with this discovery. Snorting angrily, Parker decided she might as well wait until tomorrow before going to Jarod.

With her decision made, she got off the bed and began undressing. Once undressed, she went into the bathroom and took a shower to clean up from the long trip. The hot water also helped ease the kinks in her muscles.

Dressed in a terrycloth robe, she finished the rest of her cleaning up then left the bathroom. Turning on the tv to kill some time as well as providing some diversion, she sat on her bed; head propped up with a pillow and tried to relax.

Bored after an hour of watching tv, Parker decided to call it quits. Getting up off the bed, she took off her robe and flung it onto the other bed before crawling under the bedsheets.

Then the thoughts and doubts and fears assaulted her throughout the night. Of course, which led to this morning's debacle. Parker was embarrassed, angry, and still pissed.

Right now, Jarod, also known as the pain in my ass, was still reaching out and messing with her mind and body. If she hadn't finally admitted her love for him, Parker would have gladly punched him out.

Collecting herself, Miss Parker decided to start the day over again but learning some hard learned lessons along the way.

Looking over the clothes she wore she determined that it was still the best outfit for meeting Jarod. A brand new tailored gray business suit with a white blouse and four inch high white stiletto heels.

Looking in the full length mirror, Parker thought, yes this is the perfect choice. She grinned at the memories back at the encounters when she was just about to chase him, Jarod would rake his gaze down her lithe body. She didn't miss his admiring looks or that little smile at the corner of his mouth when he paused to look at her legs.

She wasn't going to seduce him when they meet again for the first time since the raid but it will help him to remind what he was missing.

Satisfied with her dress, Parker attacked her hair and got it into a semblance of order. Not bad, she thought. Her hair was longer than it was during the pursuit of Jarod and lighter. Parker wondered about that. A sign of aging? Or, maybe the lightening of her hair was something of a sign in that the darkness of the Centre was gone and there was room for some light in her life?

Parker shrugged. She wasn't a philosopher but she did hope that with Jarod something that was missing in her would be found.

She looked down at the vanity counter. Her makeup kit was laid out and she had a furious internal debate on whether to apply any of it on to her face. Parker didn't want Jarod to see the heavily made up Centre supermodel in his face. So she just applied only a little lip gloss.

The impression she wanted to give was of a sadder but wiser woman who's looking for a fresh start. As well as being sexy to boot, too.

Done with her clothes and makeup, Parker picked up her cellphone to leave a message for her new parole officer to let the woman know that she made it here to College Park and left her Parker's phone number to return her call.

With that tedious chore done, Parker left her room and took the elevator down to the Hyatt's business center room. The room was designed for traveling businesspeople that needed a temporary office to work out of.

The room was equipped with several computers, laser printers, phone jacks for laptops, copiers, fax machines, and a counter where the hotel employee behind it would help with any problems or arranging overnight express shipments via the familiar express companies.

Parker gave the Hyatt employee her hotel room's card key which he swiped into a scanner before she was allowed to use of the computers. Once the employee finished his task, he gave back her card and told her which computer she can use.

Muttering a quick thanks, she hurried over to the computer. Parker then onto the internet and using one of the driver directions websites, she typed in the hotel's and Jarod's addresses. She drummed her fingers impatiently as the website processed her request.

There. She leaned forward looking at the directions. Across town, she saw. Damn. Looking at her wristwatch, she saw it was almost noon. Quickly, printing out the directions, she went over to the valet to have her car brought to her.

Once her car was delivered, dropping a tip to the valet, she drove off heading towards Jarod.

Parker brooded on how to approach Jarod. Should she wait until he was away from his house? Go up to his front door and knock and surprise him? Or, check to see if there's anyone else living there with Jarod?

She didn't forget her nightmare about that redhead with Jarod. Or, that after five years, the wound of that scene in the Centre with Jarod embracing the redhead was still raw.

Would Jarod had moved on? Leaving her in his dust as he rushed to join that redhead. She feared that he would start a family with that…interloper just like she imagined it in that horrid nightmare.

She slowed down her Porsche and pulled it off towards the edge of the street. Looking around the neighborhood, Miss Parker whistled a low admiring tune. The houses ranged from one to three stories tall. McMansions she recalled from reading an article in the prison library that described these types of houses.

Parker was surprised at this conspicuous consumption side of Jarod. Uneasily, she wondered if he needed this size house for his family. Growing family? she worried.

Continuing her inspection of his neighborhood, she noticed that it was just like her dream. Leafy trees forming a canopy over the streets, children playing noisily with their parents keeping a careful eye on them, and cars coming and going with people running errands.

Looking at her watch, she noted it was past one o'clock in the afternoon. She picked up her cellphone and dialed Jarod's number. Nervously, she waited for him to pick it up.

After ringing several times, a voice came on. "If you hear this, you know what to do." Even though it was a recorded message, the identity of that voice was easily discerned. Jarod's. She frowned at the cold, impersonal voice that she heard. That wasn't the Jarod who could bring a smile to someone with his voice.

She hung up without leaving a message. He wasn't home. Adjusting her posture in the driver's seat to be more comfortable, her Centre trained skills were being put to use. This was a stakeout. Waiting for Jarod to show up, if he ever did. Parker put that uncomfortable thought away. She didn't want to dwell on that possibility again.

Doing a stakeout was going to rough without Broots and Sydney sharing shifts so Parker did the only sensible things she can to make this work. She scouted out the area to find the nearest supermarket where she located the restroom as well as buying food and drinks to last for the entire day.

With that chore done, she hurried back to Jarod's neighborhood. Picking a discrete but well sited spot next to a tree, she settled down for a long wait.

The day passed by uneventfully to Parker's aggravation. Snarling at nothing in particular, she was bored and fighting the remnants of the fatigue she got from the road trip and last night. The food and drinks she bought earlier were gone even accounting for the trips to use the supermarket's restroom when she bought some more food and drinks.

Day turned to twilight then to night as Jarod still didn't show up at his house. Did he really left? she feared. Or was he working late? Uneasiness stirred in her because if he did settled down with that redhead, then where was she? Working late, too? Did they work together?

She was ready to start again tomorrow since it was already 11:30pm. Her plan was stopped when she saw a silver Lexus SC coupe pulled up into the driveway, pausing while the garage door opened up.

Parker was riveted to her seat as she recognized that figure anywhere. It was Jarod. The lighting wasn't good but she could see him getting out of the car and bending over towards the rear seat and pulling out a large black duffle bag.

He was alive and here. Relief flooded her.

The garage door was rolling down which ended her observation. But, Parker knew now that he was inside his place.

It was time. She didn't like that it to be this late but Parker was afraid that he might be gone tomorrow since she didn't what kind of schedule or work he kept or did.

She didn't even knew how she got there. One moment, she was in her car, the next, she stood in front of the white front door.

The porch light was on. Fleetingly, she thought about how she look. Hurriedly, she grabbed her compact and used its mirror to correct any blemishes. There was very little that needed to be done even after sitting in her car all day. She still looked good.

Putting her compact away, she noticed her hands were trembling and her heart was pounding away. Nervously, Parker licked her dried lips. _Here we go_, she told herself as she pressed the doorbell.

For Miss Parker, it felt like an eternity waiting for the door to open. Did he went to bed right away? She hid her disappointment and anxiety as the seconds ticked by but then she heard the locks being opened.

The front door pulled open.

A shadow stood in the foyer. She couldn't make out his face but instinctively knew that it was him.

"Jarod?" she waveringly asked.

"Miss Parker."

* * *

**A/N:** This is a long chapter but the chapter was flowing so I went with it. The phrase "do it to them before they do it to you" is a paraphrase from Hill St Blues which brings up another disclaimer. No infringement or profit intended. As for Tommy, I'm biased. I never like the story arc that Steve and Craig involving MP/Thomas even though I understood why when watching the making of Season 3 on the Season 3 dvds. In spite of my bias, I really have a problem that this was a lifetime relationship due to their differing backgrounds. The cemetery scene was my attempt at why a MP/T ship would never have worked. JMP forever! A special thanks to all my reviewers for their kind words and encouragement! If you're wondering if I'm going to complete this story, you betcha! I already wrote chunks of the last chapter already. Please read and review. Thanks!  



	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: _see chapter 1_

Chapter 9

It was another long, wearying day. After exiting the garage and dropping his duffle bag on the kitchen floor, Jarod slowly released a pent up breath and headed over to the refrigerator.

Opening the door, he grabbed a can of soda. Popping the can open, he took a couple of gulps and headed towards the darkened living room. Plopping into the old, comfortable recliner, Jarod leaned his head back and breathed out another tired sigh.

He wasn't looking forward to sleeping again. The nightmares would come with a vengeance each and every night since she passed away. No, he angrily corrected himself, she was taken away from him. He thought about the sleeping pills his doctor prescribed to him lying next to his nightstand. Each sleepless night he would be tempted to take a couple of them, _or the entire bottle, if only he could break his promise to his late wife._

But he wouldn't because of his promise. Instead, he would fight to stay awake, hoping he would succeed this night unlike the last several days when he would wake up screaming or crying or both, waking up in different places of the house futilely trying to find a place to stay awake.

Jarod drank some more of the soda. In the dark, Jarod didn't have to see or want to see reminders of his late wife. This was Rachel's dream house. It was the exact opposite of the spartan lifestyle he was accustomed to while living in a dank, dark cell in the Centre, and, then after escaping, staying in dingy, rundown fleabag hotels, warehouses, anyplace that can give him a temporary respite from the madness that was his life.

Rachel convinced him to believe that there was more than an austere life he was so used to. She made this place of impersonal wood and stucco come alive with her _joie de vivre_, her exuberance, and her dreams of their future.

He thought often of this house. It was a shrine to her now. Dedicated to the memory of a woman who died too young and who should have many decades of life to yet experience. Rachel's lingering presence permeated this too large of an empty house. A woman sworn to protect others and died doing her duty to them.

A house that she wanted for them. Jarod remembered the twinkle in her eyes as she answered his question of why did they had to have a house this size. For our family, she said teasingly with a throaty laugh just before giving him another loving kiss.

A family that will never come to be. A single heartbreaking sob broke the silence. _She would have made a wonderful mother._

Wife. Lover. Confidante. Cop. Rachel was all of that. But she was looking forward to adding mother to that list of titles. A role that was denied to her by three armor piercing bullets.

Jarod closed his remaining eye as the memory of her laugh echoed in his mind. A laugh that was infectious, heartfelt, and with a warmth that could have melted an iceberg. A laugh that he longed to hear again.

She was so beautiful, inside and outside. It was her soul and her passion that first attracted him to her. Her looks, with that gorgeous red hair that he worshipfully ran his hands through every night that they were together. The knowing affectionate look that she gave him as she felt him running his fingers through her hair.

The only woman who could make him forget about Miss Parker. The only other woman whom he could love. The only rival to Miss Parker who could claim his heart.

Choking back another sob, Jarod put down his forgotten half empty can of soda and rubbed his eye as if trying to erase the scenes that brought him such unbearable pain. The sparkle in her sky blue eyes drew him in like a moth to a flame. He burned himself everyday in her presence. Every day with her was a blessing and a gift from the gods.

A miracle, he wondered amazingly. That someone so special like her would even consider loving someone so consumed by darkness like him.

Rachel, he mourned heartbreakingly. I miss you. Why were you taken from me? I needed you so much.

This was what he always felt, the words different everyday, but still the meaning would never change. The grief and loss would always come out and assaulted him. They would never let up, showing no mercy for this man who have already suffered so much and went through so much pain even before Rachel entered his life.

Losing Rachel destroyed him. All that was left were the broken ruins of a man who existed apathetically each day. Jarod would have eagerly joined his wife in death if it weren't for the promise that Rachel extracted from him the day she died.

Special Agent Rachel Burke of the FBI. Hero to others. Wife and companion to him.

Like an airplane careening out of control, a kaleidoscope of images of Rachel assaulted him. The very first time he met her in Atlanta. The instant chemistry between them. The shared happiness of a crime solved. The open attraction that they felt towards each other. Their first kiss. Their wedding.

Unbidden, another woman's image came to mind. Miss Parker's. Jarod frowned unhappily. He made a promise both to Rachel and to himself. No more pining away for this unreachable, indecipherable woman. No more rescue attempts for a woman who didn't want to be saved.

He tried, over and over, to save her. God, how he tried. No matter how many times Parker rebuffed him, he would come back again and again and again until the world literally collapsed upon him on that awful late summer day in Chicago.

She made her choices, he thought bitterly. And all of her choices never involved or included him, as the old pain of being rejected by Parker flared once more. She wouldn't take a chance on them. Her father and the Centre succeeded where he failed. She was Miss Parker not…. Even now, he hesitated in bringing up her first name. Her given name. The name that Catherine gave her and called her by. The name that the long dead little girl whispered into his ear. Not that despicable proper and all so formal Miss Parker that daddy foisted on her in his first step to mold her in his image.

Daddy. How he hated her calling him like that. Every time he heard her call him that, a wave of revulsion would course through him. Almost incestuous he observed, recalling the time he pretended to be a counselor helping sexually exploited children.

Daddy. The man who thought he was God, when in truth, he was the very devil. He took away the soul of one his two childhood best friends and let his brother, the wheezing demon, destroyed the mind of his other best friend. Done in the abyss of the Centre that was the hell that daddy and Raines reigned over.

Truly Milton's _Paradise Lost_ applied to those two brothers and the Centre. They preferred to reign in hell rather than serve in heaven. The Centre that Catherine and a few other idealists who saw its potential believed that it could have been a heaven, a paradise to those in need of help. Instead it became a hell where fear ruled, where no one trusted anyone, and where every sense of decency and goodness were trampled upon.

Strange, Jarod pondered. After five years, why was he thinking of Parker tonight? The last time he even thought of that steely blue eyed bitch was when he asked, no he thought honestly, brow beaten Ben Miller into taking her in as a temporary lodger in his home.

To be blunter about it, he wouldn't have given a damn about Parker's post-prison life if it weren't for Timmy.

Timmy. Probably Parker's last and only friend on the planet, Jarod mused. Jarod didn't understand his misplaced compassion for Miss Parker. Unlike him, she never visited him just out of friendship's sake. The only times that she visited Timmy was when she wanted something from him. But that wasn't new. Everyone who visited Timmy wanted something from him, never coming by to see him to ask how he was, never taking him out to the gardens where he can see and feel the Sun on him, never leading him down to the beach to hear the roar of the surf or to feel the wetness of the Atlantic Ocean lapping around his bare feet. Parker never knew how much Timmy missed her and how at least once or twice a week he would ask Jarod how his sister was.

Sister. Once Timmy latched onto an idea, he never let go. Ever since he came out of that room in SL-27, he took to heart that Miss Parker was his sister. Strange and how pathetically sad to see this gentle man consider the Centre's heartless cover girl his sister in spirit. Jarod vividly recalled the cruel names she hurled at Timmy. Cousin It, furball, two-legged freak…. That wasn't something a sister would do to a brother. Nor between best friends for that matter, Jarod thought to himself.

The only time that she ever showed any sign of compassion towards Timmy was the night when he sacrificed his only chance to once again become a normal human being to help another child recover from the same cruel experiment of Dr. Raines.

And it was her fault for forcing Timmy to make that choice. Watching that vial with the cure being shattered all over the floor, Jarod felt something shattered inside himself.

He hoped that Timmy, after being cured and with his help, would be able to go home to his family. With Jarod's help, he would have. If that didn't pan out, he hoped to ask Timmy to go on the run with him, along the way, help less fortunate than them and thwarting the Centre's evil plots.

A brother who could listen to him because they suffered under the same horror. A brother, not of blood, but of shared misery and endurance surviving in the heart of darkness that was the Centre.

Blind anger erupted in him as he remembered sitting outside that porch listening to Timmy playing the piano, listening to that beautiful piano sonata slowly deformed to an unbearable dissonance. Blind anger that over the years slowly gained focus.

Until Chicago finally sharpened his focus.

Tears streaked his face on those nights when he thought back to that awful night as the three of them waited for the inevitable. The compassionate heroism of Timmy, the cynical defensiveness of Miss Parker, and the suppressed grief of Jarod as the music played out its final melancholic note. A final bitter note to the bonds of three friends torn asunder whom fate decreed must suffer and be tormented throughout their lives.

It was Parker's fault. She was the one that caused him to drop the vial. She was the one who wouldn't even have the courage to say "I'm sorry" to Timmy for destroying his last chance at a normal life. And she was the one who took him back to the Centre. Back to the taunts, the humiliations, and the exploitation that the Centre employees inflicted on him.

He wondered if Timmy still had the memory of the compassionate, caring girl in his unique mind when he asked Jarod to help Parker. "Help sister," Timmy begged of an indifferent Jarod. In the end, Jarod couldn't say no to his last friend's entreaties. He gave in and went to Maine to make the preparations for Parker with Ben.

After coming back from Maine and telling Timmy about what he done, Timmy gave him a hug and uttered, "Thank you. Future good now."

Jarod didn't understand the last part but shrugged it off. Timmy, every once in a while would say something that even he had a hard time understanding.

Jarod didn't know how Timmy knew Miss Parker's release date but suspected that he was hacking into the Federal Bureau of Prisons databases. He didn't care.

He stopped caring the day Rachel died.

Jarod wanted to stop remembering. Remembering hurts. He was so tired of hurting.

He thought he got a reprieve from all the hurts and pains when he married Rachel. The marriage to her was worth all the pain and grief he had endured ever since that fateful night when the sweepers swooped in and stolen him from his family.

_Rachel._

He shook his head sadly. Letting the silence cloak him, Jarod tried to think of something to stay awake. He was about to pick up the can of soda when the doorbell rang.

Who would be at the front door this late at night, he wondered.

Standing up, he took his .44 Desert Eagle out of his shoulder holster which was hidden out of sight by his black leather bomber jacket. Checking to ensure that the safeties were off, he headed towards the front door.

He checked the close circuit camera he installed when he and Rachel moved in. He froze in shock and disbelief.

It was Miss Parker.

Jarod's first instinct was that she was here to kill him. To be her family's avenger. He was curious how she knew about her daddy's fate since the Israelis didn't publicize their punishment of Mr. Parker, Raines, and Lyle.

But she was resourceful, among her many Centre developed talents. If she wanted something or someone she set out to get it or the person. His grim faced visage changed when a small grin crossed his face. Except him. She never got him.

What stopped Jarod from preparing to shoot her was the realization that she was talented and resourceful. Parker wouldn't ring the doorbell and shoot him. That was too amateurish for her. No, there was another reason that she was here, he analyzed.

However, he didn't know what it was. In his extraordinary life, there were only a few privileged people whom he would never sim on. Among them were Rachel, Miss Parker, and his family. He loved them so much that he respected their privacy. Which, as it turns out, was now a handicap with Parker right outside his house. Even after burning his bridges with her, he still honored his pact with himself about not simming her. That would handicap him now since he couldn't predict any moves she might make.

A frustrated sigh escaped his mouth. She always managed to confound and bewilder him. She was doing it again this night.

Steeling himself, he opened the locks to the door. Pulling the door back, he stared at her under the glare of the porch light.

"Jarod?" he heard her asking him. There wasn't the arrogant confidence in her voice now. A tremor, betraying her uncertainty, was evident when she spoke his name.

"Miss Parker," he responded. He raised his gun and pointed it unerringly at her.

Jarod saw the effect of his voice when Parker visibly sagged when he spoke the first words to her in over five years.

Parker felt some of her pent up tension drained out of her upon hearing his voice. That ended abruptly when her eyes finally saw the gun that was pointed at her. "Jarod…," she gave him a confused look. Why was he pointing a gun at her?

Jarod struggled mightily to control what he thought were long dead and buried emotions when he saw her standing there. My god, she's still so beautiful, he observed admiringly. More so now without all that garish makeup she wore while serving the Centre and with the different aura now surrounding her. Gone was the bitter, defensive, and cynical Centre-bred woman, now in its place was this woman who let her…, he blinked. It didn't seem possible but it felt like she was letting her barriers down. Finally, after all these years.

But those thoughts were quickly replace by a wave of guilt washing over him when he just realized that he just betrayed his beloved Rachel. The guilt quickly turned to anger at the woman who made him feel these treacherous emotions.

"What the hell are you doing here, Parker?" he growled in a low angry rasp. "Come to torment me?"

Thrown off balance by his anger and confused by his accusation about her tormenting him, she reacted cautiously. "Icame to see how you were, Jarod." She knew it sounded lame but the way she imagined their first meeting after the raid on the Centre wasn't turning out the way she wanted. "I'm not here to torment you. Nothing like that," she sought to reassure him.

"Well, as you can see, Parker," Jarod mouthed, "I'm here, alive and kicking. Now, if you don't mind, why don't you turn around and leave. You've interrupted my beauty sleep."

His sarcasm and bitterness was palpable. But Parker wasn't to be deterred. Not after the long lonely years in prison and her journey of discovery on her way to see this tortured and haunted man in front of her. This man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And to love forever.

Uncomfortable about standing outside his house nearing midnight and with the way their conversation was going, Parker decided to change tack.

"Can I come in?" she asked him.

Jarod froze, uncertain of how to answer her. The long pent up tirade that he wanted to unleash on her stopped with her surprised request. To let her into his home would be like defiling the memory of Rachel.

"Jarod?" Miss Parker prompted. She was relieved that she interrupted his ranting of her.

Looking at her, with her sad but hopeful face, he made his decision. "Keep your arms on top of your head where I can see them and don't make any sudden moves, Parker." Boring his eye into her to make her understand, "I'll shoot you if you try anything funny. This isn't our old "you run, I chase" game."

Trying to project a confident voice, Parker said, "I'll do whatever you say, Jarod." In spite of her brave words, she was afraid and uncertain of this new Jarod. She prayed fervently that this was just a temporary moment of insanity and that the Jarod she love would show his colors very soon for her sake.

"Stay where you are," he commanded. She was confused at his change of mind until she saw that he was reaching over to the wall and turning on the living room lights.

Backing up slowly, with his gun still aimed at her, Jarod ordered her, "Come inside, close the door, and keep walking forward until I say stop."

Parker obeyed him, keeping her hands visible on her head, she stepped into Jarod's home. Slowly walking in the indicated direction, she took in the living room with the edges of her vision.

It was tastefully decorated but there was something off kilter about it. Her instincts were nagging at her to know what it was but with Jarod and his damn gun she couldn't do anything about it. At least not tonight.

She saw Jarod stop. Waving his gun in a downward motion, in a commanding voice he said, "Get down on your knees now, Parker." Seeing her hesitate, Jarod shouted at her. "I said get down! On your knees!" She hurriedly rushed to obey his orders.

Once Miss Parker got onto her knees, Jarod carefully walked around her until he was standing right behind her. Then she felt the muzzle of his pistol pressed against her head. "Don't move, Parker. I'm going to search you."

With that terse warning, Jarod proceeded to search her. Using his right hand, he patted her arms first, then both left and right sides of her body. Then she felt his hand going under her business jacket and into the waistband of her skirt. Jarod did a complete check all around the waistband since he well remembered her preference for carrying her 9mm pistol at the small of her back.

Parker started with a jerk as his hand landed on her right breast. She felt his gun pressed deeper into her head. "Don't move, Parker," Jarod growled as he paused in his search.

"What the hell are you doing, Jarod?" Parker angrily demanded, outraged at what he was doing.

For Jarod touching her breasts weren't sexual in nature. It was something just as old though.

Survival.

He thought back to the close calls he had with female suicide bombers and the carnage they left behind while he was on field assignments in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other countries in that region as well as other places that his current employer deemed necessary. He wasn't going to take any chances, especially, not with Parker. She was, after all, a weapon created by her daddy and the late unlamented Centre.

"My job, Parker," he said, answering her in a dispassionate tone.

After checking her breasts, Jarod stepped back and stood back. "Okay, Parker, get up."

Watching as she slowly got up from her kneeling position, he said, "Empty out your purse onto that table."

Park felt humiliated and ashamed as she was forced to endure Jarod's searching of her body. It brought back the memories of what she went through while imprisoned. Still, with him armed and dangerous, she had no choice but to follow his orders, all the while fuming at him.

She emptied out her purse onto the sofa table. Out came her wallet, car keys, lipstick tube, compact, and sundry other items. It didn't satisfied Jarod. "Take four steps away from the table, Parker."

He didn't trust her at all. Jarod well remembered the nightly phone calls when he would gently remind Parker of the little girl that she once was and her caustic rejoinders that the little girl was gone. He took her advice to heart after Sears Tower. The little girl was only alive in both his and Timmy's heart and memories. Jarod trusted the dead little girl. Not the Centre's and daddy's creation silently staring at him.

After seeing her obeyed his order, he rifled through the black purse and the items on

the table while keeping an eye on her out of the corner of his right eye. Finally satisfied that she wasn't here to kill him, he turned around and faced her. "Go ahead and put your stuff back into the purse."

After gathering her belongings and putting them back into her purse, Jarod gestured with his gun again. This time he pointed towards the white sofa. "Sit down," he instructed. He waited until Miss Parker sat down. Then he proceeded to sit down in his recliner opposite her. "Well, Parker?" he asked tiredly, deciding to let her make the first move.

When Jarod ordered her to sit down, it was a different Parker, than the one Jarod still believe was alive, facing him. This was an amalgam of the Centre's and the post-prison Miss Parker. A survivor who've hit rock bottom and was slowly crawling her way back up having learned some harsh but valuable lessons along the way.

One lesson was that some things took time to fix. Jarod's grudge against her was one of those. But she had all the time in the world now. Time to heal some wounds that both of them never had a chance to pay attention to. Time to repair a torn and tattered relationship. Time to regain what was once lost.

It was easy to shift from feeling humiliated and degraded to outright anger. Miss Parker was upset at the way she was treated by the man she loved. It was doubly upsetting because she never ever wanted to be subjected to that kind of search again. Not after enduring them for five years while serving her prison sentence.

She sat there with fists clenched as she was sorely tempted to deck him. But she refrained herself because she was very aware that it might provoke him and send her back to prison for violating her parole. Plus, with the way things have already happened she didn't want to aggravate their tenuous situation further.

Instead, she forced herself to be calm and to let go of the pent up anger. Parker took a close look at Jarod. What she saw was another constant reminder of the sins of the Centre and the pain it inflicted on innocent people. And the part she played in it.

The last time she saw Jarod, his head was shaved and the seething rage radiating from him was palpable. Now, that rage was gone and he let his hair grow back. But it wasn't the full thick mass of brown hair she fantasized of running her hands through. Rather, it was a style that she knew from prison was called either a fade or "high and tight" where the hair on the sides were cut right down to the skin and leaving a slightly longer patch of hair, usually one or two inches on top. Parker also knew that this style of haircut was a favorite of certain types of government employees. Being so close to the nation's capital, the question for her was, _which agency do you work for?_

She continued her examination of Jarod. The vivid scars that shocked her when she first saw them were still there. Hairline to wide jagged lines radiated from the left side of his face crossing over to the right side where they suddenly ended by his right temple.

Moving her eyes down Miss Parker saw the worry lines originating from his tight thin lips. Lips she wanted to kiss again. But this time as a woman, not the little girl who gave him his first kiss.

She grimaced as she saw the pockmarks on the left side of his neck. More wounds from the Sears Tower attack. _Forgive me, Jarod. If I had known what they planned on doing…_

Tracing the contours of Jarod's arms, her eyes furrowed in consternation. Why was his left hand in a black glove while the other one was plain to see?

Giving him a curious look, she asked him, "Why are you wearing a glove on your left hand? Why not the right? It can't be because you're a Michael Jackson fan," she said, in a pointed barb. Her anger cooled but there was enough left for her to want to get back at him for the verbal abuse and physical pat down he put her through.

Giving her a hooded look, Jarod tersely answered her. "I lost my left arm in the attack." Pausing to let that sink in, he continued. "It's to prevent people from getting upset from seeing a prosthetic arm."

Parker squirmed, miserable by the look he was giving her. She berated herself for mindlessly bringing up something traumatic for Jarod. She wished she could take back that careless and cruel remark. She couldn't, so instead she apologized, "I'm sorry, Jarod. I wasn't thinking when I made that crack."

"I know you're a sorry excuse for a human being, Parker, and I do hold it against you," Jarod shot back cruelly. Losing that arm, as well as his left eye, left him feeling less than human. It took a very long time, some harsh counseling, as well as a lot of loving care by Rachel to convince him otherwise.

Parker winced at the cruel remark he threw at her. Taking a deep breath, she tried again to reach out to him. "Alright, I deserve that. Again, I'm sorry but I was angry at how you searched me." Noticing that he didn't react to her words, she bulled forward anyhow. "You reminded me of how the prison guards searched me everyday while I was in lockup."

Jarod was somewhat mollified by her attempted apology. He was struggling to hold onto his anger but it was slowly evaporating under the heat of her presence. _Damn it, _complaining to himself_, why does she still have this hold on me?_

Parker, not noticing his internal struggle, pointed at his gun, and asked him, "Are you going to put it away?"

Scowling at her, Jarod put his gun back into his shoulder holster. Impatiently repeating his question, "Well, Parker? What do you want?"

He leaned back his recliner. His weariness was trying to claim him. With Miss Parker there in front of him, for the first time since Rachel died, he wanted to sleep, to give in, rather than fight, and get some rest.

Jarod's question spurred her. Leaning forward, she looked at him, with concern and compassion in her eyes, "Are you alright, Jarod? Am I disturbing anyone else?"

She felt bad for prying by asking that but her curiosity and fear overwhelmed her and she needed to know if he was with someone else.

Puzzled by her concern, Jarod hesitated before answering her. What was her angle, he wondered. For the second time of the night, he wished he could sim her. "Depends on what you mean by alright, Parker. Physically," pointing towards his scars and wounds, "I'm getting by." He paused because he was uncertain whether to expose his grief over losing his wife to Parker. The last thing he wanted was for her to make cruel and cutting remarks about his marriage. In spite of what he felt earlier, Jarod still remembered how insensitive and callous she can be if she put her mind to it.

Carefully, he decided to answer her, "You're not disturbing anyone else."

Relief surged through her but with her poker face turned on Jarod didn't know how she felt when he answered her. "Is there anything I can do to help you? With my trust fund, I can help you with any medical problems," she offered earnestly.

Jarod snorted in disbelief. "I don't want your damn help. The Parkers have helped me more than enough." The antipathy was evident by his tone and body language. "Besides, I'm not hurting for money." He still had the sizable fortune he embezzled from the Centre hidden in secret bank accounts around the world, his government salary, as well as Rachel's death benefits to draw from.

Parker was dismayed at this. So far, all of her attempts to reach out to him have been rebuffed. "Look, Jarod, I just want to start making amends to you for what the Centre and," pausing painfully, "what my family has done to you in the past."

Pressing her case to an impassive Jarod, she continued, "Please accept my apology Jarod." Her eyes were starting to tear. "I'm sorry for all the things and words I've said and done to you. If I can take them back, I would."

Jarod couldn't believe what he was seeing in front of him. This wasn't the Parker he remembered. That Parker would never shed any tears, no matter what, before him. He knew that she was taught by her daddy that to cry was to show weakness.

Uneasily, shifting in his recliner, he was sorely tempted to get up and go over and comfort her. But the memories of the Centre and Parker plus his devotion to Rachel made him stay glued to his chair.

"You want to apologize, now, after all these years?" Jarod asked incredulously. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew her or thought he knew her. The word "sorry" wasn't in her vocabulary. While he was struggling to fit this stranger into his preconceive belief of her, she continued to shed tears.

Parker couldn't stop weeping. Seeing Jarod sitting there with his mutilated body, remembering the DSAs that showed the abuse that he endured in the years he was held prisoner there while she was out fucking, drinking, smoking, and metamorphosing from the innocent young girl to the manipulative and vindictive woman of Centre infamy, overwhelmed her with remorse and self-hate. _How can Jar ever forgive me_, she asked herself anguishly.

There was only one way to find out, her conscience pointed out. Her conscience. She didn't believe it was possible to resurrect her dying conscience but being in the presence of her first love, the boy with that breathtaking sense of wonder, was making her aware of long suppressed feelings that her daddy believed was eradicated from her soul.

Jarod, as a boy and a man, made her do things that she believed was impossible or incapable of doing. He always did. He challenged her, pushed her, and demanded more from her than anyone, daddy included. Unlike daddy, Jar didn't give a damn about being pleased.

He saw more potential, more possibilities, and more promises in her than anyone else thought feasible. The only other person who believed in her with that kind of faith was Catherine and she died too early to pass along those convictions to a daughter who desperately needed them as a counterweight to the insidious indoctrination of daddy and his precious Centre.

Until this night, this awful revealing night, she carried on, endured so much, because Parker clung tightly to the singular belief that Jarod never gave up on her even at the nadir of her tumultuous life.

Sears Tower changed him. Parker couldn't blame him. Everyday, when he look in the mirror, seeing the physical reminder of that atrocity, would remind him of the Centre's role and, by extent, her.

Her Inner Sense, something that she still didn't understand clearly, was telling her in its own peculiar way, that he did gave up on her, lost his faith in her, and walked away from her after years of futility.

Miss Parker's fault was that she believed the attack didn't change him so much that he would give up on her. It did and now, now her deeply held conviction of his faith in her was crushed.

But in the ruins of that crushed conviction stirred hope. Like the myth of Pandora's Box, hope was the last thing left in this sad woman to cling to. Hope because Jarod let her enter his world once more. This time, she vowed, she would never leave him again.

So she did something that her slowly reviving conscience urged her to do. Something that the Centre's Miss Parker was incapable of. But not the Parker that Jarod never gave up on in a previous existence.

"Jarod, please forgive me," she hoarsely whispered, with her throat so tight from grief and regret that she had trouble swallowing.

Jarod blinked, stunned. She did it again. He couldn't believe what he heard from her mouth. She was begging for his forgiveness. The remembrances of the years with her

relentlessly pursuing him, threatening to take him back to the Centre in chains marred what he was seeing now.

This tearful woman was seeking his forgiveness. Her vulnerability, so visible in her soulful blue eyes was threatening to destroy the emotional and mental defenses he built to protect himself.

In a trenchant twist, their roles were reversed. Now it was he who built up defenses to protect himself, to never hurt again, to never feel again. And, Parker was the one who was feeling, no matter how hurtful it may be, to seek a way past his barriers to enter his heart and soul again.

Sadly, like the Centre's Miss Parker, he reacted the same way. He lashed out. "Don't come here to me seeking absolution, Parker. Find someone else who's more gullible and naïve."

Shaking and shaken by her presence and her open feelings, he stood up and looked down at her. Parker had stopped crying by now. Silently, he grabbed a box of Kleenex from the sofa table and laid it in front of her. Even in his foul mood, that little boy who adored that little girl inside him, still wanted to help her in her time of need.

Grabbing several tissues, Parker blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She gazed at him with bloodshot eyes. "I never believe that you were gullible, Jar," she gently replied, slipping in her childhood nickname of him.

What he just saw at that moment was her, the little girl he fell in love with all those lifetimes ago, who was looking back at him. Unbeknownst to Parker, she was starting to bring him back to life. And, he didn't like it one damn bit.

Parker herself stood up. Even after seven years apart, she can still read him. Watching the churning emotions evident in his opaque brown eye and the flexing of his facial muscles, she wanted to reach out to touch him, to comfort him, and to hold him in her arms, all the while whispering loving reassurances into his ear that everything was alright.

Her eyes misted again as another wave of tears threaten to pour out again. Somehow, fate, destiny, whatever one calls it, Parker understood that she was made for him. And Jarod was made for her.

She didn't need the damn scrolls from Carthis to find out the truth. Seeing Jarod there in agony and uncertainty, her Inner Sense told her why daddy pulled that stunt of jumping out of that airplane with them, faking his death.

Jarod and her together.

Together, they would have brought down the Centre and the Triumvirate. United, nothing the Centre and Triumvirate brought to bear upon them could stop them. As one, the strengths they brought to bear would be unmatched by anything the Centre and the Triumvirate possessed.

Fear. The Centre and the Triumvirate were terrified of what would happen if they were together. Her Inner Sense and his Pretender gift were gifts that combined would be a power to be reckoned.

A power to be feared by the powers that be in the Centre and the Triumvirate. Because the men and women who ran these two twisted organizations instinctively understood that the power and prestige that they didn't deserve would be lost if this woman and man were to stay together.

Bitterly and angrily, she understood why the one man whom she wanted to live happily ever after, like in the fairy tales that her mother read to her as a child, was denied to her.

They and their progeny were the harbinger of doom for the Centre and the Triumvirate. No more would they steal children from their families, no more cruel and ruthless experimentation upon helpless victims, and no more defying the laws of man and flouting of God's commandments.

They would be the avengers, Parker and Jarod and their family. Their family would bring justice to the evil men and women who ran the Centre and the Triumvirate.

But it didn't turn out that way. Only one of them did bring justice to those dark figures.

Jarod. He was the only half of them who fulfilled their destined role.

Holding her right arm out, she gently laid her hand on his left cheek. "Jarod," she gently spoke, "I _do_ need your forgiveness. I want to start over with you, a new beginning between us, the way it should have been."

Agitated, Jarod saw her reaching out to him. Then he felt her soft warm skin on his cheek. Jarod heard what she said, a part of him wanted to do like she envisioned but now was not the time. He remembered yearning for her touch in the past, now it was real. But trembling, with Rachel's memory haunting him, he flinched.

"I can't," he groaned. "I won't betray her." He jerked his head away from Parker's touch. He felt like she branded him. Jarod rubbed his right hand over the spot she laid her hand on to actually feel her touch and simultaneously wiping off the evidence that another woman was touching his cheek. Rachel was the last person to do that.

Compassion and curiosity shown in her steel blue eyes. Parker let her hand drop down to her side. "You can, Jarod," as she encouragingly told him. "You're capable of anything you set mind to. Take that next step with me."

You're can't change," he pronounced with finality, tinged with pain. He was refusing to hear what she had to say. "You wouldn't change." _Not for me._

As she spoke, she stepped up to him, invading his personal space again. Capturing his eye with her own, she huskily voiced out, "I did change, Jarod. For me, for you, for us." Softly Parker added, "I won't give up on us, Jarod. I will never make that mistake again."

Silence as both contemplated what she just said. Parker felt the emotional storm emanating from him.

Jarod heard the words coming from her. Those words were almost exactly what he was saying for those long years before Chicago. He was about to reply when she said something that brought back awareness to his barren life.

"Who was 'her' you were referring to, Jarod?"

Trembling from a volatile mixture of anguish, anger, and confusion, Jarod was frantically shoring up his emotional barriers. "Get out of my life, Parker," Jarod harshly ordered her. The torment so visible in his right eye was replaced with a wintry gaze. He wouldn't let his first love enter his heart ever again, he vowed.

"You didn't answer my question," she pointed out. Parker wouldn't leave until she got a good answer from Jarod.

"It's none of your damn business," growled Jarod. Fed up with her and regretting that he ever let her into his home, he roughly grabbed her arms and shoved her towards the door. "Now get out of my house."

Parker couldn't believe that Jarod was actually doing what he was doing. The Jarod she remembered did have a temper but nothing like this. She tried to resist by planting her feet but Jarod's strength showed. "Jarod, stop it," she barked. "We're not done yet."

"Oh, yes, we are, Miss Parker," Jarod shot back, gritting his teeth as he continued to push a recalcitrant Parker towards the front door. As they finally arrived before the front door, he released her.

Quickly turning to face him, Parker said, "I told you, Jarod, I'm not going to leave with unfinished business between us." Her temper was rising again. _Damn you, Jarod, why are you so damn stubborn_, she thought with unintended irony.

Ignoring her, he brushed past her and opened the front door. Holding it open, willing her to get his unspoken message to leave, he deigned to answer her.

"There's no business between us, Parker. In fact," pressing his case, "I've burned all my bridges to you. Just like you wanted me to all those years ago." He knew he hurt her but didn't give a damn.

She was the vivid symbol of the horrors of the Centre and the abuse that was visited upon him by it. Jarod hoped with his cruel words, he would drive her away and never come back to bedeviled him.

His words stung her. There was no denying that. But she was still tough as nails when it mattered. In the case of Jarod, he mattered. He was everything to her. So she hid her pain and kept up her good fight to enter his heart. "Bridges can be rebuild, you know," stubbornly pointing it out to him. "We can do it together." She crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave him a challenging look, daring him to contradict her.

Upset that she was unmoving and flinging back counterarguments to his remarks, he grabbed her arm and shoved her out of his house.

Parker stood there on his front porch looking at him. Anger, defiance, and determination were what she was feeling. She sighed. She knew that this round went to him because she was disadvantaged in not knowing how he felt or what he was feeling.

The next time, though, she intend to fight harder because she knew that this was for them.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Jarod," she informed him. She dared him to contradict her.

Watching her, Jarod had to admire that she wouldn't easily accept defeat. So he decided to throw a curve ball to her.

"You were asking who 'her' was that I mentioned earlier."

She perked her ears, carefully paying attention to him. "Yes?" she cautiously said.

A silent pause then Jarod gave her his answer.

"She was my wife."

Then he closed the door.

* * *

**A/N: **Before you bring out the tar and feathers, I am a JMP shipper! Promise, cross my heart, etc! For this story to work, I needed Jarod to get married and lose Rachel. What Thomas was to MP, RB was to Jarod except with a difference. As I wrote in this chapter, she was the only other woman whom Jarod could have loved. 

Who was Rachel Burke? She was the character played by Jamie Luner, of Melrose Place fame, in the series "The Profiler", which aired right after "The Pretender" on Saturday nights. As part of the ratings stunts during sweeps period, we had Jarod and Rachel crossover to each other's show. What struck me most was the chemistry between Jamie and Michael which set my overactive imagination running overtime. Both actors made it plausible and believeable, at least for me, that Miss Parker better be worried about her place in Jarod's heart.

Another tough chapter to write just like ch7. My dialogue skills need more practice. Since this is my only second fanfic my skills are raw and unpolished. So please bear with me. The next chapter will be a flashback. I intend to fill in Jarod's past starting from his recovery after the attack to the present.

A warning to my readers: my future chapters are probably this length in average. When I set this story of mine to paper, I didn't realize I was writing a novel length story of our favorite couple. If anyone had told me at the beginning that it would be this long, I would have LMAO.

I think this story will wrap up around 15 chapters. I'll keep you posted as we go along.

Please read and review. Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Also, I forgot the disclaimer for the Profiler in earlier chapters. The Profiler and its characters belong to their respective copyright and trademark owners. No infringement intended. No money exchanged hands during the writing of this story.

**A/N 1:** This isn't the promised flashback chapter.

Chapter 10

The door closed in front of her. It was gently shut by Jarod. Not a slam as she imagine it would be. Parker expected it after their latest confrontation. But, to her surprise, it didn't happen and at that moment, she particularly didn't care.

Not when she was trying to grasp what Jarod just told her. All she could think of were the last words Jarod hurled at her. _His wife_. The words echoed and re-echoed in her mind as she slowly turned around on the front porch. She was stunned and badly wounded by those words.

She was so certain that when Jarod assured her that she wasn't disturbing anyone he was alone and single as she fervently hoped for. But, now, she was proven wrong. Horribly wrong.

In a daze, she stepped off the front porch, almost stumbling down the steps, as she walked along the concrete walkway, past the rose bushes and a pair of trellises supporting some decorative shrubbery until her high heels stepped onto the sidewalk.

Looking back one last time, she saw the house was darkened again except for the front porch light which was still lit. _What are you doing now, Jarod?_ she wondered morosely. _Are you crying, are you throwing things, or are you drowning your sorrows from a bottle like I did for a very long time? _ Or, pausing to let the pain ebbed away, _are you going back to bed next to your wife? Were you waiting for her from working late when I showed up?_

Vaguely, Parker heard the chirping of insects and the noises of other nocturnal creatures foraging about in Jarod's neighborhood. She stifled a sob as she lethargically headed towards her parked car, shoulders slumped, and with her head down.

The neighborhood about her was quiet, the inhabitants sleeping the night away getting their rest before waking up for another day struggling their way through their morning commute to get to their jobs, dropping their children off at school, making their appointments, and other day-to-day activities in this thing we call life.

The trees and bushes slowly swayed from a pleasant night breeze. The leaves were making a rustling noise which, in other circumstances, Parker would have enjoyed listening to.

Walking by the darkened and slumbering houses Parker thought this was a neighborhood that she would have liked to live in with her husband and her children. But the man that she wanted to share her life with, growing older together, watching their children growing up and wondering where the time went as they helped their children pack off for college was claimed by another woman. A woman that Jarod gave his love and heart to, she reflected, causing a pain to her soul and heart so sharp that Parker had to stop for a moment as it overwhelmed her.

As suddenly as it appeared, the pain disappeared. Biting her lips Parker continued walking though slightly faster towards her car, anxious to leave now. Parker needed space away from Jarod, but especially away from her. His wife. Her rival. The winner to a contest that she should have won by default a long time ago in a different life; if she didn't listened to her daddy, succumbed to her fears, and be subservient to an soulless organization.

Jarod's wife. That woman. She didn't even know her name. But she did know who she was though.

He did marry her. The redhead she saw comforting Jarod before she was taken away from the Centre for the very last time. How she knew, she couldn't tell you. It could have been her gut instincts, carefully honed observation skills, or her damn Inner Sense. But she well remembered the perception that there was a bond between Jarod and the red headed woman. Something special and unique.

The same connection that she believed that Jarod and her have. Or had.

She could have called the redhead a bitch, slut, or some other demeaning and degrading name out of spite, jealousy, and envy. But she wouldn't and couldn't. Not to Jarod.

For all her flaws and blindspots, she understood Jarod completely when it came to him giving his love to a woman. That woman would be special and rare. He would find someone who challenged him, stimulate him intellectually, share his sense of justice and compassion, and a equal to him in all the ways that mattered.

Jarod found all those qualities in the redhead. Not in her, Miss Parker depressingly realized. She knew she had those qualities, too. But she wouldn't let him in to her heart or to leave the Centre and join him so Jarod never got the chance to see those aspects of her.

She couldn't blame him though, as she saw her car up ahead spotlighted under a streetlamp. She was the Centre's Miss Parker, not…even now the insidious indoctrination of daddy reared its ugly head, for she couldn't even say her first name easily and openly.

A bitter, angry, and cynical creation of a man who didn't shower her with affection or demonstrated the love of a father towards his daughter. A man who allowed a young girl to grow up in a environment so poisonous that the poison almost destroyed her and brought her to the brink of total ruin.

A father who denied her the chance to love Jarod, a boy whose only fault was that he was brilliant with a special gift that the Centre craved and lusted after.

Now Jarod was lost to her. Out of reach, out of bounds, and forbidden because Miss Parker did knew Jarod. He would _never_ betray his wife. Once Jarod gave his promise, or in the case of the redhead, his wedding vows, he would never break it. _Never._

Walking like an automaton, she arrived at her convertible. Fumbling with her keys several times, Parker finally got her key inserted into the driver's side door and opened it.

Slowly, she got into the car. She moved like she was in a lot of pain. A life threatening pain. Which she was. What would she do now? Her eyes misted and slowly tears formed to slowly streak down her high cheekbones, past her jaw, to dripped onto her new business jacket.

Somehow Parker got the key into the ignition on the first try and the Porsche started up with a low roar. Miss Parker got it into gear and drove off. Leaving behind Jarod, for now, to wallow in his anger and bitterness. And, as for her, second guessing herself on whether to keep her promise to show up at his house again and to face the other woman in his life.

**JMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMP**

Jarod watched Miss Parker slowly shuffled away from his house. He almost opened the door when he saw her almost stumbled and fall off his front porch but when he saw her recover, he silently continued to watch her until she got into her car and drove away.

Solitude returned to his home. Pretty soon this argument of theirs would slowly become part of their tortured past. Another argument, another wound to their psyches. The one thing that they were good at together, without a doubt, was finding each other's emotional wounds and pouring salt onto them.

For years he wondered if they were good at anything else. Other than yelling, threatening each other, finding ways to one-up each other. The bank heist in Dover showed their potential together as a team. But circumstances dictated otherwise.

Now, that Parker left his neighborhood, he reluctantly headed towards his office, past the locked room which he never opened since Rachel's death

As Jarod went to his office, he walked past a gauntlet of mementoes of his life with Rachel. Pictures of them in various poses. A favorite picture of theirs was fishing in the Chesapeake Bay, holding up two speckled trout. Another was of them hiking together in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Then there were the prints of her beloved FBI. Incongruous the prints were. But she loved them because they depicted her fellow FBI agents in various scenes of ready to violently take down the bad guys. How she loved being a street cop, bringing to justice some of the worst criminals to roam the country.

Finally, he arrived at his office cum library. How he loved this room. Jarod's inner sanctum where he can "Curious George" surrounded by scores of built-in bookshelves laden with books, leather bound, hardbacks, and paperbacks, all waiting for him to read or reread to his pleasure.

But it wasn't just the books that shared this room. Spread throughout the room were the keepsakes when he was on the run from the Centre. The Magic 8 Ball, Mr. Potato Head, Pez dispensers, Slinky, blank red notebooks were just some of the items to remind him of that sad, happy, exhilarating, and life changing phase of his life.

With the hallway light on, Jarod managed to get to his desk and turned on the green shaded banker's lamp. With the soft pool of light providing an island of brightness in an ocean of darkness, Jarod walked over to a corner of the room. Opening up the double doors to a computer armoire, Jarod reached down to the Secured Terminal Equipment desk set, an encrypted government issued telephone, and picked up the handset. Then, slowly, hesitantly he put it back down.

Jarod knew he should report his encounter with Parker but he was torn and upset. He didn't understand why he was so reluctant. It wasn't as if he owed her anything. So why was he trying to protect her now?

He shook his head and moved over towards his desk. A solid oak desk. Heavy looking, solid, and a future family heirloom for a family that never had a chance to exist.

Jarod ran his right forefinger over it. Remembering both Rachel and him in a friendly argument over which type of oak desk they should get. They had a fun filled argument over the merits and demerits of the various types of oak trees and their qualities while a befuddled salesman stood by trying to understand the increasingly complex jargon the smiling couple threw at each other.

He sat down in the brass studded padded leather armchair. A sumptuous chair where Jarod would let Rachel sit in his lap while she distracted him from his work in order for him to get some badly needed breaks from his punishing job.

Resting his head on the chair back, Jarod let loose a fond smile as he recalled the many times their physical affections began in this chair he was sitting on and ended on their king size bed in their bedroom. Sometimes the memories didn't hurt at all, he pondered.

God, he miss her. _I love you, Rachel._

Leaning forward, pursing his lips as he waged an internal debate over what to do about Miss Parker. Seeing the paper cluttered desk, with a Darth Vader Pez dispenser and a remote control race car, lying on top of half-written reports, overdue memorandums, and coins given to him by various US Army units as tokens of thanks for his help, he picked up a slim fountain pen and started playing with it, his mind racing through possible options.

The first and easiest option would be to not report about her showing up at his house. The Office of Director of National Intelligence didn't need to know, a ghost of a grin coming and going quickly at his unintentional pun, about this night's visit. After all, he argued to himself, it didn't involve matters of national security. No, it only involved matters of the heart and a tortured past.

However, examining option one wouldn't have worked. DNI would have been curious about this woman who showed up unexpectedly on his doorstep, literally, and insinuating herself into his life.

A woman convicted of a felony who was interested in a government asset. They would've pulled him in immediately to find out what was going on between him and Miss Parker.

Jarod understood he was a unique asset to the government. He didn't begrudge them their opinion of him. Unlike the Centre, the government was upfront on how they plan to use him and gave him the option to back out of it and live his life as a private citizen.

Sure, he sniffed disdainfully, as if he can walk away from the war with his own personal stake in it. Everyday, waking up and putting on his prosthetic limb and looking in the mirror, Jarod was personally intimate with the cost of fighting terrorism and their supporters.

Damn the Centre, white knuckling the fountain pen unconsciously. He hated it even though it was already in the garbage dump of history for five years now. Feeling the aches in his body and the phantom pains coming from his missing limb, they were the Centre's last painful infliction upon him.

Irritated, he began tapping the fountain pen on a haphazardly organized stack of paper. Option two was hoping Parker would get his message and get the hell out of his life. _When hell_ _freezes over_, hearing the tone of her voice in his head. No need to simulate the walking ice cube about this.

Once this personal albatross of his got something fixed in her head, like a pit bull she would not let go at all. Shit, he told himself. No, she'll keep coming back and she won't take no for an answer.

Groaning out loud, he knew option two was also dead on arrival.

Option three was to do what he originally intended. Report the incident to the watch center and make sure that Parker doesn't get into any further trouble.

He didn't want to report her but the day he raised his hand to protect and defend the Constitution he made a commitment and an obligation to Rachel, himself and the country.

The same oath that Rachel gave when she graduated from the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia. She gave him a gentle kiss and whispered into his ear. "Welcome to my world, Jarod." She spoke with sadness and pride because she knew, as well as Jarod did, how terrible the life he chose is and the satisfaction of being a protector of the innocents from that horrid world both chose to dwell in.

Rachel died being faithful to that oath. Reaching over to a darkened corner of his desk, Jarod picked up the inlaid silver picture frame which was a gift from Grace Alvarez, one of her VCTF squad mates. Encased in the frame was a smaller version of the picture hanging in the master bedroom.

It was an image of them on their wedding day. It was his favorite, he told Rachel. It wasn't one of the formal wedding poses that their hired wedding photographer asked of them.

Rather, it captured them in an unguarded moment with no barricades and no shields involved. Taken by Bailey Malone, Rachel's former supervisor and mutual friend to both of them, it showed the love and happiness shining within this woman and man.

"You got someone special, Jarod," Bailey told him in his inimitable gravelly voice, just after taking the picture. "Don't let her down."

Exhaling softly, Jarod lovingly traced Rachel's face with his right forefinger. He remembered the warmth of her skin, the softness and texture of it, exploring every inch of her body when they consummated their marriage.

He heeded Bailey's advice. Rachel was never let down by him. Not once. Not ever.

Jarod wouldn't let her down now. He fought down the urge to sob, knowing that if he did, it wouldn't stop for a long time.

Placing the framed photo back to its original spot, Jarod rolled the chair back and headed back to the armoire. Showing no hesitation this time, he picked up the handset of the Secured Terminal Equipment.

The connection went through quickly to the DNI's watch center. Upon hearing the flat monotone of the duty officer, Jarod spoke. "I'm Agent Russell. This is an incident report."

Both Jarod and the anonymous duty office began speaking in the clipped and terse style that their chosen profession demanded for this type of situation.

"Authenticate Juliet," demanded the emotionless person on the other end, waiting for Jarod to confirm that he is who he claimed to be.

"I authenticate Romeo," Jarod countersigned with this day's letter pro sign. He squeezed the handset tightly. He didn't miss the irony that today's authentication was based on Shakespeare's two star crossed lovers.

Satisfied with Jarod's identity, the man proceeded with logging in the incident involving Jarod.

"Time?"

"0012 hours local."

"Location?"

"My home of record."

"Date?"

"31 July."

"Description of incident?"

"A recently released female felon made contact with me. She was someone I helped sent away to prison five years ago. She is on parole right now."

"Name of female?"

Jarod hesitated. He promised that little girl that he would keep her first name a secret and not to share it with others. But his obligations and oath dictated otherwise.

"I say again, name of female?" the voice impatiently repeated.

_I'm sorry, Parker_, thought Jarod. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he continued with the report. "Parker, Maureen NMN."

"I copy Parker, Maureen November Mike November," repeated the voice, spelling out NMN phonetically.

Jarod was the only one of Parker's acquaintances who knew that her parents, for some strange reason, never gave her a middle name.

"Correct."

"Description."

"Five feet nine inches. Light brunette hair. Blue eyes. Approximately one hundred fifteen pounds. Last seen wearing a white blouse, gray business jacket and skirt with high heels."

"Mode of transportation."

"Two door light blue late model Porsche Boxster. Unable to read license number." Jarod intoned.

"Armed?"

"Negative. Search came up with nothing."

"Additional information?"

"Check the local US Parole Office for her current residence." Jarod was sure that Parker had to be staying somewhere around his home. Not too far because she would want to be as close to him as possible.

Showing some emotion in his voice, the watch officer informed Jarod, "The incident report is being processed right now. Do you need backup?"

"No, I'm alright. I'll report in at the usual time," Jarod said, checking the clock on one of the mantles.

"Confirm that you do not need assistance. Out." With that, the duty officer hung up.

Jarod put the handset back in its cradle and closed the armoire doors. Stretching his body from the tense night with Parker, he felt the fatigue trying to claim him.

It was almost three in the morning. The weariness was worse than usual. Deciding that the risk of nightmares assaulting him was worth it, Jarod headed back towards his desk and turned off the banker's lamp.

Turning around he left his den and headed towards his bedroom. In the morning, Jarod was going to sim of ways to protect Parker and make sure that she wasn't going to dig a hole for herself with the government again.

Let's see how long I can sleep before the nightmares wake me up again, Jarod morbidly mused when he saw the inviting bed.

**JMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMP**

She drove around College Park in a daze. Parker didn't want to go back to her hotel room. It was too small and confining for her right now. Just like her prison cell. _Don't go there_, she sternly ordered herself.

The streetlamps were like strobe lights. The light they poured forth would land on her careworn face briefly before leaving as she drove down the quiet streets.

With no particular destination in mind and no bothersome traffic , Parker aimlessly went down one street to another; sometimes going on and off one of the interstate highways connecting the city Jarod lived with surrounding communities.

Jarod's marriage was a predicament calling for Broots or Sydney to be the targets of her anger. They were the perfect foils. Broots would blubber and be anxious to please while Syd would calm her down with his well practiced doctor's voice. She didn't realize how much she missed them when she needed a sounding board or a dart board depending on how her mood was.

But they weren't here for her now. She didn't know where Broots and his daughter, Debbie, are now. By now, Parker estimated, Debbie would be in high school learning about boys, shopping, and blaming Broots for all the things going wrong in her life.

She grinned momentarily as she imagined how Broots would deal with a hormone crazed teenage girl. Poor guy, Parker could just see the rest of Broots' hair falling out.

Driving by a shut down for the night strip mall, Parker's grimaced as she thought of Sydney. Ably defended by the same lawyer, Ryan Chang, who defended her, his trial and sentencing lasted much longer due to his decades long association with the Centre and the numerous victims who were brought to the trial to testify against him.

By the time it was over, Sydney was found guilty on all charges brought against him and was sentenced to serve several life sentences concurrently. In essence, it was a death sentence as Parker understood all too well from her own time in prison. At his age, the only way he would ever leave his federal penitentiary cell was in a coffin.

She blinked back tears. Parker didn't know how his son, Nicholas, and his ex-flame, Michelle, reacted to his sentence or the extensive role he played in while at the Centre. She didn't even know if they even bothered to show up at his trial. Did they even visited him at his prison? Another thing to add to her growing to do list.

Mulling over Sydney's fate brought back Parker's memory of the promise Jarod made to him after the raid on the Centre. Jarod kept his promise. He made sure that Sydney permanently lost his license to practice psychiatry and was given a lifetime ban from ever practicing on children again.

Parker stopped her car at a red light. While waiting for the light to change, she shivered, not from the cool night, but from Jarod. She never, ever want to be on the receiving end of his rages. Fortunately, for her, his rages were rare and far apart.

As the light turned green, she gunned the car. Parker arrived at one decision. She would visit Sydney and write him as often as he wanted. He would not be abandoned by her.

Unlike Jarod.

Finally, she stopped after driving for several more miles when she saw what she needed. Parking her car, Miss Parker stepped out of it and headed towards a bleacher set along the side of a field.

The field belonged to some sort of school, or perhaps a local college or university. Whoever it belonged to, it suited Parker's needs right now. A quiet place to sit and contemplate about what to do about Jarod's revelation.

Making banging noises with her high heels, Parker walked to the top tier of the aluminum bleacher. Looking out at the darkened field, it was a peaceful scene with no one about in the dead of night.

Angling her wristwatch to catch the light from the nearest streetlamp, Miss Parker took note that it was almost an hour before dawn. Until that moment, she didn't know that she drove for hours after leaving Jarod's house.

Leaning back to rest her head on the protective railing and resting her arms on the cold steps, she heaved a discontented groan. The life that she envisioned with Jarod was dead when she found out that he was married.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But it was and, now, she had to decide what her next step would be.

Straightening up, Parker folded her hands in her lap. The shoe was in the other foot now. He rejected her. Just like she rejected Jarod ad infinitum those many years ago. Payback, indeed, was a bitch. In this case, it was the redhead.

Parker was ashamed at her jealousy and envy. She promised earlier that she wouldn't call Jarod's wife any demeaning names but she was only human and could only bear so much burden.

Just as she finally let her emotional defenses down and allow herself to finally live and to let Jarod, the love of her life, into her heart and soul, it was too late. Someone got to him first. Somehow, that redhead convinced Jarod to stop pursuing Parker, to move on and share the wonderful love that Jarod possessed with someone other than Parker.

The love he harbored was, in Parker's biased opinion, something special, which she only got a glimpse of but once touched by it, she craved it like a desert plant to water. It nourished her, warmed her, and made her feel special.

Rubbing her forehead with her fingers, she brooded over Jarod's marriage. How was she going to deal with Jarod's wife? She couldn't stop loving Jarod. Her gift of love wasn't like a light switch, easily turn or off. When Parker gave someone her love, it was a rare privilege. Jarod earned her love by his deeds and words.

Raising her head, she looked out into the darkened field, struggling to find some sliver of good amid the rubble of her carefully constructed fantasy. Jarod was at least talking to her. She snorted humorlessly, _If you count arguing and shouting as talking._ _But for how long? Will his wife allow him to continue to associate with her?_

Parker yawned and rubbed her eyes. She was tired and emotionally worn out. The Sandman wanted her bad. But before she headed back to her hotel room and crawl into her bed, which was really tempting right now, she thought of several responses.

She quickly discarded the idea of convincing Jarod to abandon his wife for her. It would never happen. Once Jarod took his vows with the redhead, he would be faithful to her forever.

That's why she wanted him. Miss Parker would be cared for, looked after, and knowing that he would always be there for her, no matter what life threw at her.

Parker suddenly hit the bleacher row in front of her with right fist. There were no options that would let her have Jarod. "Nothing," she softly whispered into the night.

She felt the tears flowing again. Why was she leaking like a faucet? Ever since she left Ben's home, the tears just kept coming and coming.

Parker tentatively guessed she was making up for all the years that she was taught to suppress her grief and other "weak kneed" emotions by daddy. She took his advice to heart, in order to please him and to survive in the hellhole that was the Centre.

Life isn't fair, as John F. Kennedy said. When Jarod wanted her, she rejected him. When she wanted him, he gave her the ultimate rejection by marrying someone else.

Yes, life isn't fair, for both Jarod and Parker. The Centre and the Triumvirate made sure of that.

Standing up from where she sat, Parker noisily stepped down and off the bleachers. There was only one response that she can give to Jarod and his wife.

Wiping the tears from her eyes and with her heart breaking, she headed towards her car.

She needed to head back to the Hyatt and get some badly needed rest. Something that she needed before going back to Jarod's home and letting them know how she felt about their marriage.

**JMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMP**

Jarod woke up with a jerk. He fell asleep almost immediately after he pulled the covers over him as he laid down on the king size bed. For once, the nightmares didn't come to haunt him.

But he wasn't spared though. Every time he woke up in his bed, it would always remind him of the empty space next to him. The space that Rachel occupied during their marriage.

He reached his right hand over to tenderly run his fingers over the vacant space. No matter how hard he tried, he can never conjure up the warmth, the smell, the vibrant presence of her. The magic that was Rachel.

Rachel was taken away from him over eighteen months ago. It only seemed like yesterday when she died…

_Even as she lay dying, she knew what he was thinking and feeling. _"Promise me you won't kill yourself", _she whispered weakly._

_He was crying, the tears falling like a sieve. All of his skills learned as a Pretender were useless to prevent her death. Grasping her hands, desperate to save her life but knowing there was nothing he or anyone else can do, he violently shook his head. _"No," _he gasped, chest heaving. The pain was soul-searing as he watched her suffered and struggled futilely to live for them, for their family that they wanted so much. He wanted nothing more than to join her. In death as in life, he wanted to be with her because he loved her, cherished her, and honored her._

_She gently pulled her left hand out of his grasp and shakily lifted it to touch his right cheek. Feeling the wetness on his cheek, Rachel cried herself. _"You have to, Jarod. You still have so much to live for. There is so much good you can do", _Rachel gently told him. _

_He remembered the shock and anguish when he was told that Rachel was shot. The agonizingly long flight to Hartford on board the FBI plane and then the desolate ride to the hospital with a pair of sad and silent FBI agents. Images of Rachel and he being happy together flashing before his eyes. The dazed rush through hospital corridors to the ICU, ignoring the large gathering of federal agents who had already started the solemn deathwatch for Rachel._

_Then seeing her, swathed in bandages, already slowly dying in front of him. Yet, she fought like a woman possessed, snarling at the Grim Reaper to stay away from her._

_She would not go gently into that good night. Not when she had so much to live for. For her husband, Jarod, and the family they both desperately wanted. _

_But death was patient and it would claim her tonight._

"Not without you by my side", _he said in rejoinder. He looked at her drawn, pale face. The sheer vitality that everyone remarked upon meeting Rachel for the first time was gone. The red hair that he was so fond of was limp and wet with her sweat as her life was slowly eking away._

_The machines that tried to keep her alive, the tubes that ensnared her, and the all pervasive noises of the efforts to keep his wife alive were silent and gone. He was alone with her in that anonymous sterile ICU room. Jarod was now holding her in his arms. A pain wracked grimace crossed his face as he recalled how she told him she always felt protected and safe in his warm and loving arms. Now, tearfully, they were saying goodbye to each other. _

_Outside the ICU, in the hallway, her fellow FBI agents, somber and grief stricken as they silently waited for the hated pronouncement._

_Looking into his pain wracked brown eye with the face she had grown to love so much, Rachel spoke to him. _"You can, Jarod. Everyday you live is a victory for us. Please live for us", _she urgently pleaded to him._ "Promise me, Jarod, please…"

_The pleading in her blue eyes finally shattered his resolve to join her and shakily he gave her his promise_. "I promise, Rachel."

_Mustering her last strength, Rachel gave him her warmest smile, a reminder of smiles she gave him in the past, and told him, _"I love you, my hero."

"I love you, too, my life"_ giving her their last kiss together. _

_Jarod watched, his body shaking with heartrending sobs and stricken with silent grief, as Rachel closed her eyes and breathed out a quiet sigh. Then she was gone._

He agitatedly ran his hand, the one made of flesh, through his hair. Jarod couldn't stop thinking about her death.

Jarod wondered if he could have done anything that might have prevented her death. He simmed the crime scene, no matter how heartbreaking it was every time he did it, to see if there was something he could have done differently than what Rachel's FBI squad did.

Sadly, he accepted that there was nothing he could have done differently. Except that he wished he could have emptied his pistol into that son of a bitch who murdered his Rachel.

For the longest time, as Jarod stared up at the ceiling, with its ceiling fan slowly circulating the air in the bedroom, he believed that Miss Parker was the love of his love.

Until, after he was recovering from the Sears Tower attack, Rachel re-entered his life. It was the only good thing to have come out of that horror for him. The love he felt for Parker, or was it just a lifelong infatuation he asked himself, paled compared to what he felt for Rachel.

Rachel was the love of his life. The proof was all around him. Their wedding photos, the odd and ends that a married couple accumulated through the years. Planning a family with her.

Jarod guiltily wondered if he would have changed anything if he knew that Rachel entered into his life because of the Sears Tower attack.

Deep down in the depth of his soul that made him Jarod, he knew he would have stopped the attack, but still…

What about Parker, a voice asked him. What is she to you? it demanded.

Silence. An answer wasn't forthcoming. At least not yet. Jarod was confused about her. A large part of him will always love her but that connection that he always thought was unbreakable broke.

He cut it. Jarod folded his right arm under his head as he shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. Yes, he did. He cut the bond for both Rachel's and his sake. When he did it, he realized the depth of his love for Rachel. He would never have done it for anyone else.

But now, here was Parker, invading his space, his refuge, and his memorial to Rachel wanting to renew their bond.

Would it be worth the risk? What would Rachel think about his infidelity to her? Where will it lead if he decided to renew their connection?

Jarod thought the connection between him and Parker was dead and buried but last night when that little girl stared back at him through Parker's eyes…

He got up and just sat by the side of the bed. The comforter and bedsheets slipped down to reveal his muscular torso. Anyone looking at him now would see the scars criss-crossing his body. The results of the attack as well as the surgeries which save his life.

There were some recent scars, livid and red, courtesy of his recent "extreme adventure" in Iran. Another mission, another scar as one of his team mates would sardonically say.

He stretched his tight muscles and yawned. From long practice, he put on his eye patch and attached his prosthetic arm to the stump of his left arm just below the elbow.

Jarod checked the clock. It was 5:35am. Good, he grunted. Time to run. He grabbed a pair of boxers, put it on, then he changed into his running shorts and tank top.

Leaving his bedroom, he walked down the hallway lit only by a nightlight, towards the kitchen. Turning the faucet on, Jarod took a glass and let some cold water pour into it. Taking several gulps of water to wet his dry throat and hydrating himself for his daily two and a half mile run, he hoped that he wouldn't encounter anyone else jogging or run into Parker especially.

He needed some stress relieving endorphins and his run was just what the doctor ordered.

Finished with the glass, he set it down in the sink and moved towards the foyer by the front door. Jarod put on his socks and running shoes. Then he started his warm up routine, stretching his muscles to loosen them up and getting his blood pumping.

His warm-up done, Jarod opened the door. Then he realized he made a mistake. He forgot to check the close circuit camera.

Now, the last person he wanted to talk to was there in front of him. "What the hell do you want?"

**JMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMPJMP**

**A/N 2:** What happened to the flashback chapter? Writer's block. Rather than let my faithful readers hanging for months, I wrote the next chapter. I stayed true to canon as far as giving Miss Parker a first name starting with the letter "M". Maureen was the name I chose because I was going to stick to the naming convention of the era she was born into: late 1950s to early 1960s.

I want to say thanks to the following: my Firefox browser, Google, Internet Movie Database, and MS Word's Research button (thesaurus feature). Without them, this story of mine wouldn't have come this far.

Special thanks to all my reviewers, especially the faithful ones who started out with me from the beginning.

We're almost done with the J/RB mushiness now. Patience J/MP shippers.

Parker's physical attributes are guesses so please don't flame me! LOL!

I think Sydney's lover's name was Michelle. I just can't remember. I hope I got her name right.

We're over the hump now. The story is downhill.

Please read and review. Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

**A/N 1: **This is my flashback chapter. Warning: it's very long. Also I created a OC for this chapter since I locked up poor Sydney.

Chapter 11

"Now, is that the way you greet your favorite therapist, Jarod?" asked the short, thin Indian man, smiling enigmatically. Shrewd brown eyes were already evaluating Jarod. "Not a good morning for me? I'm hurt," displaying a moue for Jarod.

Annoyance, irritation, and resentment boiled through Jarod upon seeing his psychiatrist. Dr. Balaji Tushar was nothing like Sydney. He wasn't one to encourage a father/son relationship since Tushar was a decade younger than him. Tushar didn't believe in a warm and soothing doctor/patient relationship like he had with Sydney. Plus, he had a personality that just got under Jarod's skin.

Repeating his earlier question, Jarod folded his arms across his chest. "What the hell do you want, _doc_?" He knew that Tushar frowned on using the shortened title which was why Jarod used it on him.

"Ah, well, you see I got a copy of your incident report…" began Tushar, starting to spread his arms, noticing Jarod's attempt to irritate him.

"So naturally you just had to rush over here to see how I'm feeling about it?" interrupted Jarod. He tried to forget that Tushar was on the distribution list for the incident report but, obviously with the good shrink standing in front of him, that didn't work.

Slowly, shaking his head, the Indian-American psychiatrist shook his head bemusedly. "Actually, I was coming over to ask how you feel about Miss Parker appearing in your life again."

Jarod was appalled to see that Dr. Tushar was actually rubbing his hands together and leaning forward eagerly to await his answer. _This bastard got a lot of nerve…_

"This doesn't concern you, doc" Jarod angrily said. "She's none of your damn business."

Tushar didn't deign to reply as he brusquely brushed past the obviously pissed off Pretender.

Jarod felt his hands formed into fists but knew he wouldn't assault his psychiatrist. No matter how deserving he might be.

The psychiatrist arrogantly headed towards the living room and sat in the same sofa that Miss Parker occupied last night. Looking around the living room, he remarked, "So, Jarod, nothing has changed since Rachel died, eh?" Arms spread wide and leaning back in the sofa, the Indian doctor gave a very good impression of a cat toying with a mouse.

Jarod steeled himself for another of Tushar's unscheduled and, certainly, uninvited therapy sessions. But no matter how grateful he felt for the psychiatrist who helped him on the road to recovery after the Sears Tower attack, Jarod just wasn't in the mood for another gut-wrenching examination of his psyche.

Dr. Tushar carefully examined the Pretender. _Ah, Jarod, you're not the only one who can pretend._ To effectively treat Jarod, Tushar, after examining the DSA archive which Rachel gave him to watch, he took on the persona of, what he jokingly told his lover, an arrogant prick with people eagerly lining up to beat the living shit out of him.

The exact opposite of Dr. Sydney Greene. _May you roast slowly and painfully in hell, Dr. Greene, _fumed an incensed Tushar After over six years, the mental and emotional wounds Jarod bore still had to be treated. He thought he closed his file on Jarod after his marriage to Rachel.

But that was not to be. When Rachel died, he had to hand off all of his current cases to his partner, who was also his lover as well as a few other psychiatrists who came close to his level of competence, in order to treat Jarod exclusively.

What no one can accuse the good doctor of was low self-esteem. But his confidence, verging on cockiness, was well earned. That was why his practice was flourishing with the nation's law enforcement and national security communities who were his exclusive clients. He still took on a few private patients though, who came to him by word of mouth after hearing about his skills through their connections in the government. But Tushar found his niche treating the mentally and emotionally wounded civil servants. Right now, with Jarod, all of his skills were put to the test.

Tushar had to have him admitted, after examining him, into one of the low profile psychiatric treatment centers maintained by the government for its spies, commandos, and covert operatives. Jarod was catatonic and had shut down by the time he arrived at the hospital where Rachel died.

Reluctantly, Tushar had him put in restraints for his own safety and placed on 24/7 suicide watch.

When DNI, Jarod's employer, found out the extent of Jarod's breakdown, it gave Tushar all the resources needed to help Jarod recover. Of course, Tushar cynically noted, Uncle Sam didn't do it out of his altruistic nature. They wanted him for his unique abilities but were ambivalent at the same time due to his background.

Oh, yes, Tushar remembered. Once they found out about Jarod's chameleon-like skills, they had Jarod put through the same Personnel Reliability Program that people working with nuclear weapons had to go through before they even got near one. The government was interested in using him but weren't sure of his mental and emotional stability due to the years of abuse at the hands of the Centre.

But after he passed the program, the government welcomed him into its bosom and promptly sent him out to fight its enemies.

When Rachel died, Jarod wasn't only the one who felt her loss. Jarod would have been surprised at the real Dr. Tushar, a warm and empathic doctor who also mourned the loss of the forceful and driven FBI agent. But because Tushar adopted such an odious personality that repulsed Jarod, he never bothered to find out Tushar's true personality.

An odious personality because Tushar wanted to be the exact opposite of Dr. Sydney Greene, a leading candidate for the Dr. Frankenstein Award.

"The silent treatment, Jarod?" questioned Tushar, raising one eyebrow. Motioning with his left forefinger, he pointed at the recliner which the doctor knew was Jarod's favorite chair. "Have a seat."

Jarod wanted to say no just out of principle and as a sign of his autonomy. But storming out of the house, leaving the doctor sitting there all smug and composed alone in his house, was not something he wanted. The Pretender was afraid the doctor might go through his house looking for any nuggets of information or clues to psychiatrically dissect him.

His hope for a stress relieving run vanishing, he sat on the recliner and glared at his shrink. "I'm not interested in your help, _doc_," Jarod said in a pouting and aggrieved manner.

"Of course not, Jarod." A mocking smile pasted on his clean shaven face, Tushar pulled himself forward and looked intently at his long time patient. "I'm just a friendly ear for you, Jarod. I've known about your troubled relationship with Miss Parker in the past."

"What Parker and I have is nothing for you to stick your nose into," Jarod insisted, his guard up.

"Is that how you feel about me and anyone else asking about the two of you? Why is that?"

Jarod was flustered at the very perceptive question. He didn't want to answer Tushar's question because it was too personal and private for anyone else to know or understand.

Ever since he was kidnapped from his parents by the Centre, his every move, every action, and every word was recorded, analyzed, and studied by people who didn't care one damn bit about him. Only in what he can do for them.

Parker underwent something similar to what Jarod experienced at the Centre. While she wasn't subjected to the cruel whims of Dr. Raines and the gentle manipulations of Sydney, Parker endured the fake suicide of her mother, the emotional manipulations of her daddy, and working under the microscope in the hellish atmosphere that was the Centre.

Both of them, Jarod knew, never had a moment's peace or solitude to relax, to let down their guard, and be able to express themselves as a free man and a free woman without worrying about the consequences.

"Jarod?" persisted the enigmatic Indian. Watching Jarod struggled to answer him in one way or another, Tushar thought back when he first encounter this gentle but hard luck man.

* * *

**_6.5 years ago_**

Dr. Balaji Tushar waited for his newest patient to show up. Picking the thin manila folder, he noticed the name written on it. Jarod Russell.

He sighed tiredly, emotionally exhausted. Another victim of the Sears Tower attack to be treated. Another victim to try to put back together, at least emotionally and mentally, for the people in his field. The physical healing was dealt with by other medical colleagues working in other fields.

For him, today, he was asked to see if he can patch up a Jarod Russell found buried in the basement of the Sears Tower.

Reading through the report of his eventual discovery and rescue caused a shudder to go through this thoughtful and caring doctor.

To be impaled by a piece of steel rod through his left eye, losing his left arm, and then to be buried under tons of concrete rubble, he couldn't imagine what it felt like to go through something like that. But Jarod did. And it was his job to find out what those feelings were.

There was more though. After meeting Dr. Rachel Burke for the first time, Jarod's friend and, if his instincts were correct, more than that, and hearing what she had to say, he had a unique person in his care.

A person that the government was showing signs of increasing interest. Coming out of his coma slightly over three months ago, Jarod started beginning his physical therapy. But he was having problems adjusting to his new condition. A condition that now included a missing left eye, an amputated left arm, and disfiguring scars criss crossing his face as well as the rest of his body.

Picking up and looking at the two pictures of Jarod, the before and after Sears Tower, he could understand Jarod's anguish and sense of denial. It was his responsibility to get Jarod out of the ghetto of self pity and convince him to adjust to his suddenly changed appearance and live out a life that was worth living for.

A tall order even for a summa cum laude graduate of the Stanford Medical School.

Letting out another sigh, he waited in the spartan room provided by the hospital for his patients. No stereotypical couch. There was no room for one. All it had were a padded green rolling chair for him and an ugly orange chair with a plastic surface that was cracking showing the white stuffing inside.

Looking up when he heard the door handle being turned, Dr. Tushar stood up. He always stood up for his patients as a form of respect and an icebreaker. He also preferred to shake their hands if it were possible.

The man he was expecting didn't enter his office. Rather, it was Rachel Burke who walked in. The red headed FBI agent looked him over and smiled wanly at him.

Giving her an inquisitive look, Dr. Tushar said, "Dr. Burke, an unexpected pleasure. Is there something I can help you with?"

Shaking her head, Rachel answered. "No, doctor. Instead, I believe I can help you," lifting the silver Halliburton case and putting it on the psychiatrist's desk.

"What is it?" Tushar asked between glances at the case and his unexpected guest.

"Jarod's life," Rachel intoned, with an intense look on her face as she stared at the silver case. Uninvited she sat down on the orange chair and looked up at him.

Sighing inwardly, Dr. Tushar walked around the steel gray government-issued battered desk and sat in his chair. Leaning forward a bit and resting his hands on the case, he said, "Can you clarify what you just said, Dr. Burke, or do you prefer, Agent Burke?"

"As I told you before, please call me Rachel."

Tushar gave her a small grin. "Of course, than please call me Balaji."

Crossing her shapely legs with her hands folded in her lap, Rachel also leaned forward. She began to explain to the psychiatrist what the case represented. "For starters, Balaji, Jarod's life isn't normal. He was kidnapped when he was a boy…"

Dr. Tushar listened incredulously to Rachel's explanation. He couldn't believe that such an organization existed within the borders of the United States. What she told him alternately angered and frightened him. While feeling these emotions, he also was furiously revising his treatment plan for Jarod. His attention was brought back to Rachel as she concluded her explanation.

"That," pointing towards the case, "is Jarod's life as recorded by the Centre." Rachel sat back in her chair worried and nervous of how the doctor would react to what she just said.

Running his hand through his jet black hair, a nervous gesture from his childhood, Tushar looked at the tense woman sitting opposite him. "Does Jarod know that you have this?" indicating the silver case lying between them.

"Um, no, he doesn't," Rachel answered slowly, unsure of why he was asking this question.

Unsettled and uneasy at his realization, Tushar nevertheless spoke out what was on his mind. "Dr. Burke, um Rachel, we're skirting the line between ethical and unethical behavior." Touching the Halliburton case, he continued. "Jarod should have given us his permission to look at this."

Rachel was embarrassed and angry, both at herself and the Indian doctor for pointing out her lapses in judgment but she had a good reason for what she was doing.

She was in love with him.

Saving Jarod's life was her overriding imperative now. Rachel didn't want a debate about medical ethics with the Indian while Jarod was in the depression and self-hate he was engulfed in.

Grunting, she pinned Tushar with a hard stare. "In a perfect world, Balaji, we would have gotten his permission." Standing up, she continued. "But this isn't a perfect world. For argument's sake, I can say to you that by wasting time trying to convince Jarod to let us look at his life, which by the way he won't, it would conflict with our first obligation to our patient. First, do no harm."

Standing up also, Tushar returned her glare with one of his own. "Do no harm? Is betraying his trust in his medical providers justified to poke and prod around in his private life, Rachel?" Crossing his arms, he asked, "Give me one good reason why I should be convince to go through that," indicating the enigmatic silver case.

"So you can successfully treat him," replied Rachel heatedly. She was getting agitated at Tushar's obstinacy.

Tushar sighed in frustration. "That's too general, Rachel. Not enough of a reason for me to violate Jarod's privacy."

Striding forward until there was only the desk between the two doctors, Rachel bit out, "Jarod won't open up to anyone. He's been analyzed, studied, and probed for almost his entire life." Jabbing a finger into the silent man's chest, "He knows how to hide and protect his feelings and thoughts from everyone. You'll be the latest in a long line of people trying to figure him out, especially psychiatrists and psychologists. You'll also be the latest in failing to understand him unless" slapping the Haliburton loudly, "you study what's in it."

She took a step back and glared balefully at the Indian doctor daring him to contradict her.

Tushar looked at the red head. Her reasoning was well thought out, he noted. She probably had prepared for this confrontation with him before she even first stepped into the austere office of his. "You sound so sure that I'll fail with him. I've treated a lot of people successfully," he pointed out with confidence, "I know I can do the same with Jarod." He cocked an eyebrow at her, challenging her assertions.

Rachel was prepared for his smug response. She'd known too many psychiatrists like Balaji who claimed they can treat anybody successfully but they never met anyone like Jarod who can outwit them if he put his mind to it. "Have you ever treated someone who can successfully pretend to be a psychiatrist and a psychologist? Convinced hospitals, mental health clinics, and world class medical schools that he is a real mental health care giver and that _everyone_," she emphasized, "in those places considered him to be one of their own? Jarod did and did it so well that no one was ever the wiser."

Without saying a contradictory word to her, Tushar sat back in his chair and giving Rachel a thoughtful look for a long moment, he bent his head down and proceeded to open the Haliburton. "How do I operate this thing?" he asked, looking carefully over the machine in front of him.

"I'll show you." Walking around the desk, Rachel leaned over, grabbed the oldest DSA, and inserted it into the slot. She pointed at the play button. "Press this and the Digital Simulation Archive, DSA for short, will play." Standing erect, she softly told him, "There are years worth of DSAs to view, Balaji. They recorded everything about him." She stepped away from him, "I'll let you view them alone." She strode out of the room leaving the man to watch Jarod's life as recorded by the Centre.

Once the door closed behind the departing Rachel Burke, Dr. Tushar pressed the play button. Stroking his chin, the psychiatrist sat back in his care worn chair and prepared to learn who Jarod was and what made him the man he is now.

* * *

A male nurse entered first, followed by a shuffling Jarod, then behind the patient, another male nurse made up the entourage. The three stopped in front of the doctor. Tushar nodded towards the quiet nurses while holding out his right hand to Jarod expecting a handshake. When Jarod didn't move to shake his hand, Tushar wordlessly let it drop back to his side. "Jarod, why don't you sit there" indicating the orange chair, "and we can begin."

Jarod didn't say anything but did as Tushar requested. He sat down, keeping his gaze pinned to the floor, ignoring everyone else in that room.

"Thank you, gentlemen." The nurses gave him a muttered "your welcomes" and quickly departed.

Once the door closed behind the burly nurses, Tushar went over to his chair and sat down. What he immediately saw was Jarod's bristly scalp.

Tushar settled on an innocuous opening question. "How are you feeling, Jarod? Are you comfortable in your room? Is the food alright?"

Jarod didn't answer. Tushar carefully observed his body language. Jarod was cradling the stump of his left arm with his right arm. The muscles were tensed. His posture was half bent leaning forward in almost a fetal position. _Hmm, doesn't want to attach his prosthetic limb to his arm._

Deciding not to push him too far, too fast, Tushar decided to do all the talking for now but sooner or later he expected Jarod to talk to him. Otherwise, he would have to write Jarod off as a hopeless case. Something that he wasn't willing to do, not with his skills and abilities which his fellow medical students and instructors admiringly noted. As far as Tushar was concerned, Jarod would be his greatest case and, if he can help Jarod, he can help anyone.

Grabbing a pen and notepad, he sat back in the unyielding chair back. Tushar then took out a micro recorder, turned on the voice activated feature, and sat it on the battered gray desk next to him.

"Jarod, you're an interesting patient," he began. No response. "You know, Jarod, a lot of my patients give me the silent treatment but eventually I always coaxed them to speak to me." Getting out of his chair, kneeling down and with his head craned upward until their eyes met, "Always," Tushar emphasized before sitting back in his chair again. The confident air about him was evident even to a shut down Jarod.

Again, there was no response from the wounded and traumatized Jarod. For the next hour and a half, until the nurses came by to take him back to his room, Tushar probed Jarod by asking a series of sharp and pointed questions, all designed to coax a response out of the unresponsive patient. The psychiatrist never lost his patience but did carefully display his frustration. What Tushar didn't want was to lose control to Jarod. After a week long viewing marathon watching Jarod's DSAs, he knew Jarod was skilled enough and brilliant enough to subvert him.

But Tushar didn't need to worry. Jarod never looked up from the position he was in during the session.

Frustrated and tired, Tushar was relieved that the nurses took him away. He felt the tightness in his shoulders and in his neck. _Time to prescribe some Motrin_, he thought, dreading the onset of another tension headache. Ever since he was brought onboard to help with counseling the Sears Tower victims, he's been afflicted with them at least once a week.

Unexpectedly, the door opened. Tushar snapped open his eyes and stared at who the uninvited person was.

"Rachel," he stated tiredly. He already knew why she was in his office. What she asked didn't surprise him.

"I just wanted to ask how the session with Jarod went," Rachel said, stepping into the room. She was gripping a coffee mug and was shifting nervously on her feet.

Seeing her nervousness, Tushar, for a moment hesitated to answer, but she was almost as good a psychiatrist as he was and a profiler to boot and can tell when someone was trying to avoid answering an uncomfortable question. "He didn't respond to me at all. Non communicative despite the standard verbal stimuli."

Rachel frowned worriedly. She knew what the next step was in the standard treatment. "Which antipsychotics are you going to prescribed?"

Getting up from his chair, he grabbed the chair that Jarod recently vacated, planted it in front of his desk. Indicating the chair, Tushar told her, "Please have a seat." Sitting back down in his chair, he looked at the FBI agent. "Rachel," Tushar grunted irritably, "I'm his shrink. Not you. But to answer your question, I won't be prescribing any drugs right now. I want to try something different than what the textbooks say I should do next."

Curiosity and unease surged through her at what the Indian-American just said. "What is it that you're planning on?" She drank some of the hot coffee to calm her suddenly tense body.

Giving Rachel a solemn look, he told her, "I'm going to do what Jarod has been doing for almost all his life. I'm going to do a pretend."

Rachel blinked her eyes in confusion. "Excuse me, doctor? What do you mean by that?" _What the hell are you talking about, _she wondered.

Folding his hands on the desk, Tushar calmly answered her. "I assume that you've been through Jarod's DSAs? Also, that you've watched how Dr. Sydney Greene has been treating his victim," the contempt in the psychiatrist's voice was very obvious, "during the time he was held in the Centre?"

She nodded, "Yes," mentally urging him to get to the point.

Letting his breath out slowly and feeling a bit giddy because what he was going to tell her was something that wasn't taught in any medical school, Tushar explained his unorthodox plan to save Jarod.

"Dr. Greene has a certain way for dealing with Jarod. He was subtle and, before Jarod even knew it, imprinted himself into Jarod's psyche. I intend to do the opposite. My hope is that this will break through the shell that Jarod has put up around himself."

Rachel was skeptical and told him so. "Jarod's been through all kinds of psychotherapy, hell, he posed as a shrink several times," shaking her head, "so he'll know that you're going to pull a reverse psychology on him."

"I know that," he argued in a guttural tone, "but he's going to have to listen to me before he rejects anything that I have to say." Pressing his case, he continued, "His subconscious is going to help me because he'll be processing what I'll be telling him. Also," giving her a knowing look, "you'll be helping me reinforce my treatment for him."

Rachel squirmed under his gaze. Under the ruse of sipping coffee, she considered what Tushar told her. What he just described just might possibly work. She knew for a fact that the standard treatment wouldn't work for such a unique personality as Jarod. Rachel hid her worries well from the other doctor but she knew that if Jarod doesn't come out of his fugue state very soon then he might never will. "How will I help him?"

"He'll remember you, no matter what state he's in," pointing out something obvious to both of them, "so Jarod will get more reinforcement in his treatment." This was a good time, he told himself, to take the Motrin. Opening one of the drawers in his desk, he grabbed the bottle of pills and poured out two capsules and swallowed them aided by the bottle of water sitting on his desk. After swallowing them, he raised his right eyebrow, "Are you in?"

Hiding her unease but with a glimmer of hope showing in her eyes she said, "Alright, I'm in. Let's go over your treatment plan."

* * *

The treatment session was held in Jarod's room. The room, as one would expect it, was bare and painted white with a bed, a pillow without the pillowcase, and rip proof bedsheets designed to prevent suicidal patients from killing themselves; a sink, toilet, and mirror made out of stainless steel. This was Jarod's residence as of now. _Just like his cell in the Centre including the ever present cameras_, Rachel forlornly thought to herself. Depressed about Jarod trading one cell for another, she watched and listened to the two occupants of the room from the close circuit TV monitor.

Dr. Tushar was standing facing Jarod who was sitting on the bed with his legs drawn to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth. He was warming up, noted Rachel. She concentrated on what he was saying to the mute and guilt racked Pretender.

"Dr. Greene, Jarod. What is he to you?" persisted the psychiatrist. Tushar was acting out of character for him. Pretending to be someone he wasn't. Leaning in to whisper into Jarod's ear, "I'm going to help you, Jarod, by telling you what he is," when Jarod didn't respond to his prodding. "He's a mind fucker. He fucked your mind for over thirty years without worrying about how it might have affected you."

Jarod rocked faster and began to shake his head. Tushar was pleased. Words right now couldn't describe what he was feeling about this pretend thing. But he could see how it was affecting Jarod. A step forward, he thought, pleased. Tushar continued in his grating and harsh voice, "He made you believe that all the sims that you've done was for the benefit of humanity, when, in fact, they were sold to the worse sort of scum this planet had ever seen."

Making sure to keep his body away from blocking the fiber optic cameras that was sending the feed to where Rachel was, Tushar lowered his voice, "Jarod, you're listening to me. A very good sign. We're starting to making progress now." Rubbing his hands together, ensuring that Jarod saw the motion, he bent down again and pressed his argument about Sydney.

"Dr. Greene rejected your attempts at forging a closer relationship, didn't he, Jarod? He was the closest thing to a father you had growing up but he always treated you like a lab specimen rather than as a boy who desperately needed love and affection." Kneeling until he was eyeball to eyeball with the suddenly agitated Jarod, he continued to press his case against Sydney. "Dr. Greene couldn't even protect you from Dr. Raines or anyone else from the Centre that wanted to experiment on you, right Jarod? What kind of doctor would let someone under his care suffer that kind of agony and pretend, no pun intended, all was well?"

Rachel saw him get up from his kneeling position. The slender man paused as he let Jarod stew over what he just said. After a few moments, Tushar proceeded with his nontraditional therapy session. "He made you believe that you're special, with the so-called "pretender" gene. Hell, they all did at the Centre." Stretching the kinks out of his wearied body, Tushar carefully noted Jarod's body language. Jarod was doing something that both Rachel and Tushar hadn't done before, shaking his head in a negative manner. _Not bad. _

Rachel watched with grudging admiration as Tushar slowly sand down the emotional barriers Jarod erected to protect himself.

Tushar glanced down at the still rocking Jarod, seeing that there was also now a furrow in his forehead. Another step forward. "A pretender. Someone able to be anyone whoever he wants to be. You have to be a genius, right? After all, the Centre has been chasing you for years, never giving you any peace, constantly reinforcing your ego that you're special. BULLSHIT!"

Tushar's sudden exclamation caused both Jarod and Rachel to flinch. "They fooled you, Jarod." With a sudden gleam in his eyes, the slight, wispy Indian proclaimed to Jarod, "I'll tell you what you truly are."

Pausing to heighten the suspense, both Tushar and Rachel saw that Jarod had stopped rocking on his bed and was tilting his head slightly to listen to the mental health care provider. "You are a one trick pony; an oddity; a carnival sideshow freak that a sick and twisted organization convinced itself was a unique and special _specimen_ to be exploited."

"No." The single word echoed in the small, cramped room. Both doctors snapped their heads to Jarod. He finally had spoken.

Dr. Tushar carefully put on a contemptuous expression on his face. He was still in his pretend role. "Yes, Jarod," he countered. "You have a gift or," pausing to put his right hand and gently grasping Jarod's chin, forcing him to look into the doctor's brown eyes, "a curse."

Rubbing with his left hand on his chin, Tushar contemplated what he just told Jarod. "More of a curse, I would say. Kidnapped from your parents; watching your brother, Kyle, wasn't that his name, murdered before your own eyes; your sister Emily pushed out of a window and almost killed, being cloned, and your parents forcibly separated from each other and still separated even while I'm talking to you right now."

Jarod grunted as the doctor recited what he already knew by heart. Every sad little word of it.

Shaking his head, Tushar put on a gleeful smile, even though inside he was saddened by what Jarod's family had to go through, "You're worth several articles for me, Jarod. Hell, even a medical textbook fully devoted to you. You, my friend, are going to boost my career big time."

Letting go of Jarod's chin and standing up again, Tushar signaled to Rachel that this session was over. _Okay, Jarod, you should be pissed by now. I hope you are, otherwise, this treatment isn't going anywhere._

* * *

The treatment plan that both Tushar and Rachel devised for Jarod was working, albeit, with starts and stops along the way. Jarod finally was aggravated and mad enough to push back against Tushar's arrogant and condescending manners.

While Dr. Balaji Tushar was picking at Jarod's battered psyche, Rachel was soothing Jarod with gentle and kind words. In effect, Rachel was the good cop, while Tushar was the bad cop. A worn out cliché but a highly effective one.

In the course of his treatment, Rachel was daily by his side except for the sessions with Dr. Tushar. She would lend him her sympathetic ear as he vented his anger and frustration at the Indian psychiatrist for dredging up his past and for making him question his deeply held beliefs and feelings regarding Sydney, Miss Parker, and the others at the Centre. Also, Jarod hated the constant refrain coming from Balaji about how medical textbooks had to be rewritten and the outpouring of articles that will appear in medical journals once the medical community knows about Jarod's existence.

After Jarod was told by a nervous and guilt racked Rachel about her and Tushar going through his DSAs and violating his privacy, he raged and stormed at both of them and refused to neither speak to either of them nor attend the therapy sessions for a few weeks.

When Rachel expressed her concerns to Tushar, he bluntly told her, "He'll get over it. It's a good sign that he's pissed at both of us. I would be more concern if he didn't give a damn about us rummaging through his DSA archive."

* * *

Tushar was right. Jarod did got over it. Things were smoothed out a lot by Rachel patiently enduring his rants and self-pitying about her and Tushar violating his privacy and by forcibly challenging him to find another way of saving his life without going through his DSAs.

Jarod sulked when he couldn't find a different way. He hated being bested by anyone but it was especially worse when it was by someone he cared very much about.

He cared very much about Rachel. Carefully, she managed to get by his barriers and entered his heart. Jarod couldn't tell exactly the moment he allowed her in but now she was a constant in his life. He couldn't imagine a day without her now.

Jarod bit his lips. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be._ Miss Parker was the woman who owned his heart. Not this warm, open, and caring redhead. But with the therapy sessions with that annoying Indian, the quiet discussions with Rachel, and the free time he had on his hands, he had a lot of time to think about his beliefs, values, and morals.

The nightmares persisted, even Tushar acknowledged they would never go away, but with the doctor's help, he was able to manage them. What wouldn't go away was the rage at the Centre and the Triumvirate. The thousands of deaths weighed on him, haunted him, and wouldn't let go of him.

They'll pay, he vowed. He'll use the Pretender skills that they coveted so badly to bring them to justice and see them behind bars or pushing up daisies.

That included Miss Parker. He struggled in coming to this conclusion but there was no getting around the fact that when he offered, begged, and pleaded with her to leave that hellish institution, she refused.

Jarod contemplated why she wouldn't leave the Centre. It couldn't be because of Daddy, could it? Was it something else that bound her to that place where they grew up together until they were torn apart? Were the secrets of the Centre worth staying for? Couldn't Parker feel and see the love he always held for her? Didn't she understand that he would spend the rest of his life caring for her, seeing to her needs, and providing her with anything she desired? That she deserves some happiness in her life?

But it was his next to last session with Tushar that finally convinced Jarod that he can love Rachel and letting go of his hopeless dream of loving Miss Parker.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Jarod gave the slender Indian a puzzled look. "I'm Jarod," he answered, settling comfortably into his padded chair. Both patient and doctor were in Tushar's nondescript office, the window blinds opened to let in sunlight, giving the office a cheery, light atmosphere.

"No, Jarod. I mean _who are you_?" asked Tushar, shifting in his swivel chair, notepad in hand. "You were a firefighter, surgeon, pilot, bomb disposal expert, race car driver," ticking off his fingers of some of the occupations that Jarod pretended to be in his past. "You've spent almost your entire life pretending to be others that you have never been given the opportunity to be yourself, to find out what you wanted to be when you grew up." Pausing to let that sink in, he then continued, "Am I right, Jarod?"

Jarod was silent, not answering immediately to what the psychiatrist had asked him and trying to ignore the observations that Tushar just pointed out to him.

Sensing Jarod's reluctance as a sign that he hit the mark, Tushar went in to exploit this opening. "You know Jarod, you've violated the laws of the states that you've done your pretends in." Going through his notebook until he came to the page that he was looking for, he looked at his patient and gave him a sly smile at the look Jarod gave him. "Yes, Jarod, in fact there are several names for what you are besides the Centre's giving you the title of Pretender."

"Really, doctor, just what are the names you've found for me," Jarod asked aggressively. He was curious to hear what the damn shrink had thought up to annoy him now.

Getting Jarod's attention, Tushar gleefully stated what he wrote in his notebook. "You, Jarod, are an imposter, a fraud, a con man, a liar, and a grifter." He stopped and looked at Jarod, curious to see how these words affected him. Giving Jarod a speculative look, "Hmm, I wonder how much I can make by turning you in."

Sitting straight up in his chair, Jarod shot back, "No, you're wrong. I'm not any of those things." Putting on a furious expression, Jarod went on, "I did what I have to do to bring justice to those who deserve it and to help those people who've been wronged and abused." His eyes blazed with fury at Tushar's slanders.

Tushar noted that fury as well as the clenched fists of Jarod's. "Good, Jarod," Tushar was pleased at his reaction, "you're expressing your feelings very well." He jotted down some notes on his notepad, than looked back up at the steaming Pretender. "But would the courts and law enforcement community adopt your position? I understand they take a dim view of people falsely impersonating others, especially if they're cops and lawyers."

Jarod took a deep breath, trying to control his anger, before answering the patiently waiting doctor. "If they know the particulars of my deeds, why I did what I did, they would take that into consideration. After what I went through at the Centre, doctor, having no voice to shout out that this is wrong, denied my freedom, and deprived my rights as a human being, I vowed that no one else, _no one else_," he emphasized with a wagging finger at Tushar, "will ever suffer like that if I can help it." _Doesn't he understand that there are people who need to be brought to justice for what they've done to others?_

"Let's for the sake of argument, Jarod, that you are in the right, that still brings up something that's been bothering me about your pretends while you were on the run from the Centre." Putting the notebook on the desk behind him, Tushar gave Jarod a thoughtful look.

"What did I do that bothers you, doc?" Jarod hid his pleasure at seeing the annoyance on Tushar's face at his use of the shortened title. Ever since finding out that the irritating Indian hated being called that, Jarod used it whenever the psychiatrist went too far in their sessions. Like now.

Letting go of his irritation with Jarod's use of _doc_, a real annoyance which Tushar had, pretending or otherwise, he answered Jarod. "Trust, Jarod. People trusted in who you claim to be; they trusted you with their secrets, hopes, and dreams; they trusted you in what you can do for them. In the wrong person, that trust can be betrayed and taken advantage of."

Jarod mulled over what Tushar just brought up. The people he helped did trust him and they were never sorry nor regretted giving him their trust. The only ones who were angry about trusting him were the bastards who've hurt others in the name of greed, power, and lust, among other sins. "That trust goes two ways, doctor. I trusted the people whom I helped to tell me the truth before I made the decision to help. Once I decided to help, I never betrayed their trust. Nor take advantage of them." He threw a challenging glare at Tushar, daring him to contradict his answer.

Tushar took up the dare. If this was the only way to get inside Jarod's head and heart, then he'll do it. "But did they know who you really are Jarod? When you say that you're a cop, a fireman, or whatever you are during a pretend, they believe you are who you claim to be. Would they open up to you if they knew that you never went to a police academy, entrust their children's lives to a surgeon who never graduated from a medical school, or entrust their retirement nest egg to a financial planner who never attended an Ivy League graduate business school?" He stopped to get a drink of water before continuing, "If you were a parent who has a child who needed surgery, Jarod, would you stake that child's life with a Pretender? Or with a real surgeon who devoted his entire adult life to learn the skills and techniques to save the life of a child?"

Jarod heatedly defended himself at the implied insinuation. "I never put anyone's life in jeopardy or have someone died on me, Dr. Tushar." His brown eyes clearly expressed the defensiveness he was feeling as well as the beginnings of what Tushar has sowed in him. "I rather die first than let that happen to anyone in my care," Jarod murmured.

"You may not have that choice, Jarod," Tushar said, attacking Jarod's defense. "You dabble in everything Jarod, a dilettante at all things, yet only a master of one skill. To be a pretender of everyone else who've devoted their lives to master a set of skills, knowledge, and abilities to be a productive member of society." Pointing his right forefinger, Tushar felt righteous outrage at Jarod. "Be an actor, Jarod, or a fraud, be honest in your fakery, you can finally earn a damn living imitating other people's lives."

Jarod felt his mouth open at what he heard from Tushar. He sucked in a deep breath. What Tushar just said opened up a side of him that he rarely examined. Only a couple of times did he dare to look at what Tushar openly brought out. If he examined it too deeply, then his carefully crafted persona would come tumbling down. _Am I just a fake, like Tushar said?_

"Is that what you think I should be, doctor?"

"I can't decide for you, Jarod. It's up to you to find out what you want to be and finally figure out who you are."

Giving Tushar a determined look, he told him, "Then I guess I better get to work finding out who I am."

Tushar mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Things were progressing very well. _I just might try this pretend for some of my other patients._ Jarod's treatment was almost over. But there was still one last major step for Jarod to take.

"There's another interesting factor that you have to considered."

A curious and cautious Jarod asked him, "Oh, and what would that be?"

"You've been on the run for over four years, always on the move, never having a chance to put down roots." Seeing Jarod was about to respond, Tushar held up his right hand, motioning Jarod to let him finish his observation. "Now, you've got a chance, a real opportunity, to settle down and to find out who you are and what you to be."

Seeing that his doctor was done, Jarod forcefully told him, "The Centre has never given me any chance to settle down, to let me reunite my family, and to live out the rest of our lives in peace."

"But the Centre doesn't know that you're here, Jarod. They can't find you if they don't know where you are." Tushar glanced at his wall clock. A few more minutes before he can go home and unwind. Jarod always left him exhausted after their grueling therapy sessions.

"That won't stop them, doctor. They never give up," Jarod told him in a morose voice.

"Only because you insist on playing your infantile, stupid, and extremely dangerous game with the Centre," Tushar argued forcefully and truthfully. "It's never been their choice to continue this sign of arrested development, Jarod." Leaning forward to touch his left knee, Tushar got Jarod's undivided attention. "The choice was always yours, Jarod." He continued, "It's time for you to decide to grow up or remain half man/half child. Take some time to mull it over."

"I will," Jarod replied. He had a lot to think about and decisions to be made. He made as to rise from his chair, thinking their session was over when Tushar raised his right hand.

"Almost done but not yet, Jarod," giving him a slightly apologetic smile.

Jarod sat back down in his chair and waited for the next salvo from the psychiatrist.

"Rachel." That name hung in the air between them. Jarod's heart started beating a little faster, while Tushar carefully waited to see how Jarod would react to his mention of the FBI agent.

"What about her," Jarod asked, carefully keeping a neutral expression on his face.

Keeping in mind his pretender persona, Tushar went on the offensive when he noticed Jarod's studied lack of interest at the mention of Rachel's name.

"Rachel loves you. And, from my observations of you, Jarod, you reciprocate her feelings."

"I don't know what you're talking about, doc," Jarod said in a flat tone. He wasn't going to let Tushar probed his almost non-existent love life.

Tushar obviously didn't know about Jarod's determination and, if he did, he would have ignored it. "You're a fucking liar, Jarod. You can call me a lot of things but one of them isn't shit-for-brains." Tushar wasn't pretending when he let his anger show over Jarod's show of ignorance.

Ticking points off on his fingers, Tushar informed Jarod what he observed. "Rachel was here every day when she found out that you seriously injured, more to the point she took a leave of absence to be with you, she's burned through her savings so she can stay here in Chicago to be by your side, she was a punching bag for your verbal abuse and constant self-pitying, Rachel encouraged you during your rehab, she supported you when you wouldn't help yourself." Stopping only long enough to sip some water again and glaring at Jarod to say that he wasn't finished he went on, "Rachel also took care of the insurance paperwork and making sure that the Centre wouldn't discover that you're here. And you know what, Jarod? She did it all with a smile on her face and a cheerful attitude." He asked the Pretender, "Is that love to you, Jarod?"

Sitting in the suddenly uncomfortable chair, Jarod didn't want to make eye contact with his doctor but Jarod knew that Tushar wouldn't hesitate to walk over and forcefully make eye contact if he had to. The points Tushar raised were things that Jarod also noticed. Most but not all. For example, he didn't know that Rachel was protecting him from the Centre or seeing his huge hospital bills were being paid.

Jarod ran both of his hands, both real and plastic, through his shorn head. Finally, with a sigh, he made eye contact with the Indian. "I love her." This simple declaration was like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. He also was feeling a warmth that he felt only once before spreading throughout his entire body.

The tired but satisfied psychiatrist looked at the sudden change in Jarod's mood. Unfortunately, he was going to pour cold water on Jarod's new found discovery. "That's good, Jarod. I'm pleased with your admission but you do know there's more to it than that."

"What are you talking about?" Jarod asked, his mood shifting crazily from one end to another. Tushar always made him go off balance.

"Commitment."

"Commitment?" echoed Jarod.

"Yes, commitment." With an earnest look on his face, Tushar explained to Jarod what he meant. "You've been running ever since you've escaped from the Centre and, before that, you were held captive there for over thirty years. Jarod," Tushar couldn't hide his sad sigh, "do you know how to stay in a committed relationship? I don't know if you can."

Jarod gathered his thoughts before replying. His first thought was, yes, he can commit to a relationship but he frowned, which Tushar immediately noticed, as he went over his life. There was never a time for him to settle down, not with his huntress and the Centre an ever present fact in his life. Nia, Zoë, and a few others he fleetingly thought about settling down for. But one thing or another prevented that from happening.

"What do you want me to say, doctor?" asked a deflated Jarod. "That I can't love someone? I'm not capable of caring? Afraid of attachment?"

"No, Jarod," Tushar said, dropping his pretender mode. "There is a woman by the name of Rachel Burke who loves you waiting outside my office. She's ready to make a big change in her life for you." In a kind and soothing voice, Tushar intoned, "The questions that you need to answer includes are you going to run when the going gets tough? Will you be there when she needs you, or the family that she will eventually dream of?"

Jarod gaped at Tushar. He hadn't thought that far. Admittedly, Rachel and he had had great sex when they worked together, now the psychiatrist was talking about the whole enchilada rather going to first base.

He listened as Tushar continued, "Are you going to run away from your problems? From your responsiblities? From the role of husband and father? Will Rachel wake up to see you gone? Or will she see the man that she fell in love with? A man who knows his responsibilites, obligations, and duties?"

After Tushar finished, Jarod replied in a thoughtful voice. Gazing directly into the enigmatic brown eyes of the shrink, "I can do it, doctor. It will not be easy; I've never been through this before, so I can't say what will happen. I just don't know." Jarod shrugged, uneasy because this is something he can sim and pretend but with the developing relationship between him and Rachel, it was becoming something real.

Tushar was inwardly pleased. The taxing and trying months with Jarod finally was bearing fruit. His admissions that he didn't have all the answers and his inability to pretend a real loving relationship were signs of Jarod's recovery. "Now, you know what the rest of the human race goes through, Jarod. We don't have all the answers, we do our best, and we hope that things will work out."

Signaling the end of their session, Tushar stood up, quickly copied by Jarod. Turning off his recorder, he escorted Jarod towards the door. Just as Jarod was putting his right hand on the door knob, Tushar asked him again, "Do you love Rachel?"

The question was simple in its brevity but loaded with unspoken complications. Jarod knew why Dr. Tushar was repeating this question. And, after what he went through in their session, he didn't hesitate in answering. With a calm and confident look in his brown eyes, Jarod replied, "Yes."

* * *

_**Present day **_

"Miss Parker and I have had our lives scrutinized, observed, and examined since we were children," Jarod finally told the Indian. "We don't need anymore of that."

Tushar nodded at this since he went through the DSAs and knew what he was talking about. "Hmm, what about the fact that she's an ex-con, Jarod? This is a red flag for your superiors."

"I'll tell them that she's not a threat to us or pose a risk to the nation." His promise to protect her was beginning now.

"I'll leave that argument up to you and your bosses, Jarod. But I am curious to know why right after being released from prison, she headed straight towards you?"

Jarod clenched his jaw, recalling what happened a few hours ago in this same room. The tears in Parker's eyes, that little girl he thought he buried in his heart, and her pleas to start over again brought back the emotional turmoil.

Boring his hard gaze into the doctor's, he responded. "It's personal. I'll tell you that, I'll tell my bosses that, I'll tell any son of a bitch who keeps asking me about why she was here."

Rachel and Miss Parker. Miss Parker and Rachel. The two women in his life. One dead, one very much alive. Both demanding his undivided love and loyalty. He was on an emotional roller coaster ride and couldn't get off it. He needed time to think and feel. Having Tushar on his case right now wasn't helping at all.

Abruptly, Jarod stood up. Looking down on his long time psychiatrist, a friend as well as a nuisance, he told Tushar in a no nonsense voice, "Leave, doctor. I'm not going to ask twice."

Seeing the uncompromising look on Jarod's scarred face, Tushar didn't bother to argue. Years of treating Jarod left him knowing when to push and when to pull back. This was a situation that called for him to pull back.

Standing smoothly up from the sofa, Tushar walked to the front door unerringly since he's been in Jarod's house many times before. Before leaving, he turned around to look at the silent Pretender. "I'm setting up a session with you, Jarod. Call my secretary for the time." Seeing the refusal in Jarod's eyes, he pressed his point, "This is mandatory, Jarod. DNI will be getting a synopsis after our session." Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and left.

* * *

**A/N 2:** This chapter was a bear to write. I'm not a shrink so I don't know if what I wrote about treatments is correct or not. I mainly wrote this chapter because I'm curious about whether Jarod can actually settle down, love some woman, and have a family after constantly being on the run as well as solving a problem then moving on to the next problem in a different location. Can a peripatetic person like Jarod be able to stay in one place, year after year? As I wrote in Ch 8, Jarod never grew up in a family environment, so whether he can have and start a family in a loving environment is a question mark. I believe he can with psychiatric counseling as depicted in this chapter. If he didn't have any help, I wonder…

Next chapter will be the start of JMPR unless my muse tells me otherwise. I hope to post it in either October or November. Most likely November.

As always, please read and review. I'm hoping to hit 50 reviews with this chapter. Thanks for all my reviewers for their kind and thoughtful words. I hope I didn't let any of you down.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 12

Parker's plan to visit the Russell's today never happened. What she wanted to say to the couple would have to be put off till another time, if ever.

Looking around the tired, grayish cinderblock interrogation room, she sagged in her chair. This wasn't how she planned her day to be. Stuck in an FBI building, waiting for someone to tell her why the hell she was there, and unable to communicate with anybody.

Parker went over everything that she done or said since being released from prison that would have caused the FBI to take her into custody.

Miss Parker sniffed disdainfully as she recalled one of the agents, who showed up at her hotel room, assuring her that she wasn't under arrest; just that they were taking her in for questioning.

_Questions_, she wondered, _to what?_ _What did she do? _Parker was almost certain that it had to do with her meeting with Jarod last night.

She glanced down at her wristwatch. Parker let out a large yawn. It was almost three hours now since the agents woke her up and drove her to Washington, DC. Parker was starving and craving for coffee since they woke her up after only getting an hour or so of sleep.

Along with physical weariness, she was emotionally drained. After futilely thinking of anything that would let her have him, Miss Parker tearfully accepted that Jarod was happily married. Now, all she wanted was to have her say with him and decide what to do with the rest of her life. But the government decided to interfere with her plan and, now here she was, waiting for someone to tell her what was going on.

Miss Parker didn't have to wait much longer. The door to the interrogation room opened and in walked a stocky woman with salt and pepper hair done up in a bun. The woman looked curiously at her but said nothing as she pull the other chair out and sat down.

"Good morning, Miss Parker," the woman began, gazing at Parker. The woman was deeply tanned, had black eyes that revealed nothing of what she was feeling, and had a face that showed evidence of a full life with crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

"Good morning, Ms…?" Parker replied, letting the question linger between them.

Leaning back against her chair, the woman answered, "Call me Ms. Donovan." That wasn't her name. In her line of work, lies, deception, and concealment were her stock in trade. Using cover IDs was to her like breathing to others.

Parker instinctively knew she was being lied to but powerless to do anything about it so she went along with the woman's lies. One thing comforted her though. Having lived through and survived several brutal T-Board inquisitions, anything the feds did to her pale compared to those.

"_Ms. Donovan_," Parker said, emphasizing that she knew the name her interrogator used was a fake, "why am I here? What did I do to merit four FBI agents showing up at my hotel room?" She crossed her arms across her chest and gave Ms. Donovan one of her patented ice queen glares.

An amused smile appeared on the older woman's face. "You're here because you showed up at one of my people's home." The smile quickly faded and was replaced with a cold, hard scowl. "An ex-convict showing up at the man who helped put you away is of very intense interest to me." A chill rapidly settled over the room. "Why were you at his home?"

Parker ignored Donovan's scowl. On the surface, she displayed no signs of intimidation but beneath she was troubled. _How did they know about their meeting? _"It's something personal between Jarod and me."

"Personal, Miss Parker?" inquired Ms. Donovan, in a skeptical tone. "As in settling a personal vendetta for being sent away for five years, hmm?"

"No," was Parker's curt reply. "It's not like that at all. I," Parker hesitated, hating the idea of other people prying into her feelings for Jarod, "knew Jarod when we were growing up together. We used to be best friends once…" her voice trailing off.

"So you think you can just show up and renew your friendship just like that?" Donovan asked skeptically, accompanied by the snapping of her fingers. "After what the both of you did to each other?"

"Yes," declared Parker, then added sadly, "But it didn't turn out that way." No, not the way she wanted to.

Grunting out a breath, Donovan said, "I could have told you that about Agent Russell without you having to show up at his home."

Jarod Russell. Parker stopped paying attention to rest of what Donovan was saying when she just heard what Jarod's last name was.

He recovered another piece to his past, Parker joyously thought. She was elated that finally he had an identity, a name, just like everyone else, to call his own. _Did he found his family?_ she wondered.

Like a wine connoisseur, Parker swished and swirled his name in her head. Jarod Russell. She savored that name like it was the most important thing in the world. Unbiddingly, she tried out a couple of versions of her name with his. Maureen Parker-Russell. Maureen Russell.

Both names felt right. Sounded right. But it would never be, she thought despairingly. The pain clawed its way through her body and soul again. Miss Parker would never get to use his name.

Silence engulfed the room. Miss Parker saw Ms. Donovan frowning at her. "Are you back from wherever you were, Parker?" she acerbically asked.

Embarrassed, but damn if she would admit it, she muttered, "You got my undivided attention." She took a deep breath and put away the pain in its dark little corner.

"See that you do," snapped the irritated fed. "After what he suffered, frankly I'm surprised that you weren't shot or thrown into jail."

Her hackles were raised and her Inner Sense was shouting. Something was wrong and she said so. "What do you mean what he suffered?" She leaned her body forward, mentally willing the other woman to spit out whatever it was that affected Jarod.

Ms. Donovan was taken aback at the affect her words had on the ex-con. Parker was paying extremely close attention to whatever she was about to say. Curious to see how Miss Parker would react to Jarod's recent tragic history, she settled on telling her the truth, rather than make something up. "Russell's wife was killed in the line of duty almost two years ago. Her death," she remarked sadly, "broke him. It took a long time for him to recover from it."

Parker sat there stunned. Until now, she didn't understood Jarod's explosive reaction to her attempts to recreate their bond. Parker closed her eyes, her heart aching. _Haven't Jarod suffered enough?_ A couple of tears slowly trickled their way down her high cheekbones. This, in spite of her best efforts, to prevent showing any weakness in front of the government agent.

Donovan noted Parker's tears. Whether her sadness was an act or was real, she couldn't tell. At least not yet. Donovan prided on her skills at judging someone's character. By the end of this interrogation, she would find out what kind of person Maureen Parker was made of. "Are you alright?"

Parker opened her eyes and brushed her tears away. Gazing intently at Donovan, she nodded, "Yes. No." Parker paused to inhale a deep shaky breath. "No," she repeated, shaking her head vigorously. "Jarod doesn't deserve to go through this alone. He's already been through so much in his life." Abruptly, she stood up, her chair tipping over. "I have to see Jarod right now." Parker made to move towards the interrogation room's door.

"Like hell you are," barked out Donovan, also standing up and moving to block Parker from leaving. "Sit back down," pointing at the toppled over chair. "Now."

Both women traded glares. Their confrontation palpable as each waited for the other to back down. But neither did.

Parker seriously contemplated about pushing this obnoxious bitch out of her way but realized, in the back of her mind, that even if she did succeeded, there was no way that she would get out of the FBI building successfully. Even with this realization, her pride prevented her from giving in to Ms. Donovan. Instead, she braced herself for whatever move the fed was going to do next.

Donovan coldly studied the ex-con in front of her. _Make that ex-terrorist_, she amended. Those who knew of her in the intelligence community were very much aware of how ruthless and deadly she can be. Right now, Parker's ignorance of Donovan's background, have just put her on thin ice with the Deputy Director of National Intelligence, the nation's number two spy.

Donovan was going to call in her bodyguards and have Parker forcibly reseated when the door opened.

Both women turned their heads at the unexpected interruption.

Parker gasped out loud. "Jarod, are you ok?" were the first words out of her mouth. Before Donovan could move to intercept her, Parker wrapped herself around Jarod's body. "I just found out about your wife. I'm so sorry," she told him, her eyes closed and head resting on his left shoulder.

Jarod stood stock still. This wasn't what he expected when he rushed out of his house and drove recklessly getting over to the FBI's Washington Field Office after finding out about Parker being taken in for questioning.

He resisted the urge to return her embrace when he saw that Donovan was looking directly at him gauging his reaction to Parker's very public display of affection. Instead, Jarod chose to extricate himself from Parker's forceful hug. "Parker, let go," he ordered, putting his hands on her shoulders and carefully pushing her away from him.

Parker didn't hear what Jarod was just saying to her. Right now, she was savoring their closeness. His smell, the warmth emanating from his body, the way his skin felt against hers.

This was how she imagined it should have been: a shared moment of happiness, bliss, and love. Not sharing the pain of loss, grief, and sadness.

Without warning, Miss Parker felt a pair of hands on her shoulders firmly forcing her away from Jarod. She opened her eyes to stare into Jarod's somber brown orbs. "Jarod?" confusion and hurt in her voice, as Parker watched Jarod pull away from her.

With difficulty, Jarod ignored her and turned his attention to the stern looking woman standing behind them. "Ma'am, is this necessary?" indicating with a nod of his head to encompass the interrogation room and Miss Parker. He would deal later with Parker about her finding out about Rachel's death. Though, looking at the stocky woman who was his boss, he already knew who the source of the information was.

"Yes, Russell," Donovan coolly replied. "This is SOP which you should know by now." Giving a look indicating that he was brain damaged, she continued. "You were the one that submitted the incident report last night, correct?"

Abashed, Jarod nodded and replied, "Yes." His only excuse which he knew that Donovan wouldn't accept was that he lost his professionalism upon hearing about Parker's detention. That wouldn't wash over with the hard-bitten spy. Jarod knew she expected better from him.

Turning her attention away from a contrite Jarod back to the hurt but still defiant Parker, Donovan told her, "Sit down and wait until I get back." As she headed for the door, she said warningly, "Don't even think of trying to leave this room."

Jerking her head towards the door in a silent command, Jarod silently followed his superior leaving Parker behind so fast that she never had a chance to form a reply.

* * *

The two silent figures went into another empty interrogation room. As soon as they entered it and closed the door, Donovan whirled on Jarod. "What the hell is wrong with you, Russell? Don't you remember how to conduct a damn interrogation?" 

"Yes, I do, ma'am," answered Jarod. "Look, Mrs. Cloud Runner," Donovan's true name was Juana Cloud Runner, "Parker doesn't pose a threat to either to me or the government."

"Oh, really? All of a sudden, you've developed clairvoyance? I know you possess some unique talents but I didn't know mind reading was one of them," Cloud Runner sarcastically said. Grabbing one of the ancient, battered chairs, she sat down. She gestured Jarod to do the same

Obediently, he grabbed another chair and sat down facing Donovan. "No, I don't read minds or look into someone's soul and determine what their intentions are. I just believe that having known her for a very long time and I can say, with certainty, that she's learned her lesson from her time in prison so that she won't be a menace to society again." Jarod hated repeating what he said but, after working alongside bureaucrats and management, he knew that repetition was a fact of life with them.

The Crow Indian grunted. Looking at the disfigured man in front of her, earnestly advocating Miss Parker's harmlessness, she wondered about his quiet determined defense of the convicted terrorist. "Why do you care so much about her, Russell? Were you intimate with her?" going to the heart of the matter. Was Jarod Russell going to become a security threat? What the Deputy Director of National Intelligence needed was a thorough evaluation of Russell and Parker's links. She made a mental note to have a couple of analysts go over their backgrounds. In fact, she would order them to wring everything that the government had on these two enigmatic persons.

Jarod was prepared for her questions. Unbeknownst to her, and if she did knew, she would have been pissed, because he simmed her multiple times so Jarod knew what her next move would be. "I care about her because she was my very first friend and my best friend for several years until we were torn apart by my captors, the Centre." Even though he had his answers prepared for her, expressing them was still difficult, not just because Cloud Runner didn't understood the mutual shared darkness that both he and Parker dwelled in as children, but because this woman was a stranger.

Like Parker, he had a problem trusting and opening up to people. Decades of strangers, coming and going, demanding, always demanding, something from him, left Jarod highly suspicious and prone to borderline paranoia about people's true intentions towards him.

But, with Parker's fate in his hands, and working for a very dangerous and, he had to admit, admirable woman who wouldn't hesitate in getting rid of Parker if Cloud Runner felt his old huntress was a real threat to one of her people, he answered her, "No, we weren't intimate." Cloud Runner started to say something when Jarod continued, "We never had a chance."

She could feel the sadness and the longing emanating from Jarod. Juana Cloud Runner felt her heart go out to him. In spite of her career choice, she and her husband both managed to stay married for over thirty five years and raise four wonderful children. Now, seeing Jarod and recalling the tragedies of his tortured life, she can sympathize with why Parker was so rash in wanting to comfort him and why he, in return, was protective of her.

But her professionalism and duty overrode her sympathy and understanding for them. The DDNI still needed to know if Jarod's emotional ties to Parker would pose a clear and present danger to the country she'd been protecting her entire adult life. She would keep her eye on him.

Catching Jarod's attention and heading off his dark mood, Cloud Runner told him, "I'll make you a deal, Russell." She saw him tense up. "Let me finish up my interrogation. If Parker answers everything to my satisfaction, I won't have the local US Attorney file charges against her."

"Thank you, ma'am," Jarod sighed with relief, but was interrupted as the Native American continued speaking. "But if I feel that she's deceiving or lying to me, I'll make sure that her parole is revoked and she spends the rest of her life behind bars. Do you get me, Russell?"

Jarod swallowed hard. She left him with no choice but to go along with her offer. Vaguely, he thought of taking Parker and start running again just like in the years gone by. But he discarded that idea upon gazing on the dark hard eyes of his boss. Juana Cloud Runner would lead the search, he knew. She was smart, nasty, and good at carrying grudges. The people she would have searching for them would be competent, intelligent, and effective. Plus, she can call upon the resources of the sole remaining superpower if she needed to. Something that the Centre was always short on and can only have wet dreams about.

"I get you," he tersely answered.

By unspoken mutual consent, both stood up and exited the room. They headed back to the room where Parker was. Cloud Runner entered the room while Jarod detoured into the adjoining area where he can watch the interrogation through a two way mirror.

Except for bathroom breaks, the interrogation went on for four more hours. Jarod's boss would prod, probe, push, and dig into every answer and reply that Parker gave. All three were quite aware that body language, eye contact, voice inflection, and the instincts honed over years of interrogating people who didn't want to answer truthfully, deceiving their interrogators by giving out false information, and eager to say anything, do anything to get out of their predicament, were in play.

Jarod knew that Parker was going to be honest and truthful to every question that Cloud Runner threw at her. The question was whether Parker convincing and believable enough to allay the suspicions that the spy harbored.

Finally, it was over. Parker sat slumped in her chair. Cloud Runner still projected an image of being alert, sharp, and still quite capable of going on for several more hours. A façade which she dropped once she entered the adjoining room where Jarod was.

"She can go," Cloud Runner declared tiredly. She collapsed onto the nearest chair and breathed out a tired sigh.

"Do you want me to get you something to drink? I can go down to the vending machines and bring back something," Jarod offered. He was exhausted also but not as bad as the two women were currently experiencing.

"No," she mumbled, running a hand across her forehead. "Get her ass out of my building and tell if she pulls this kind of shit again in the future, she fucking better informed her damn probation officer." Cloud Runner tiredly stood up. She was going to head to the women's restroom to throw some water on to her face before heading home for the day.

"I'll get her out of here, ma'am. Thanks," he quietly said. He was about to open the door and get Parker when she spoke up again.

"Russell, I always knew you were smart," Cloud Runner expressed in a flat monotone.

"Ma'am?" he queried.

"You didn't say I told you so," she answered to his questioning expression.

* * *

The drive to the Hyatt was filled with an brooding silence. Every attempt that Parker made towards initiating a conversation with Jarod was met by "not now", "later", or a grim line appearing on his mouth. She gave up trying to converse with him and moved as far away as possible from Jarod as she could in the front passenger seat. 

Jarod noticed her moving away from him. He ignored the twinge of guild and concentrated on his driving. After Parker's intentions towards him were proven benign, to Cloud Runner's satisfaction, he promptly followed her order and got his childhood friend and one time nemesis out of the FBI building before his boss changed her mind.

Half of his mind was concentrated on the task of driving while the half went back over what he told the DDNI. _Never had a chance._ Looking over at the silent huddled figure, a tiny voice was

whispering, _your chance is here._ He couldn't deny it but if he gave in to his desires then he would be betraying Rachel.

But was he betraying her? He was faithful to her. Jarod vividly remembered his marriage vows. _'Til death do us part._ Maybe Tushar was right. Was it time to finally let her go and start living again?

"Keep your eyes on the road, labrat," snapped Parker, a shadow of her former Centre persona appearing just now.

Jarod jerked his eyes back to the front and quietly let out a gust of air, relieved that there was very light traffic on the highway right now. Without looking at her, he grunted a curt, "Thanks."

Parker was embarrassed at the way she spoke to Jarod. She couldn't believe how easy it was to fall back on to her "ice queen" image. This was the last thing she wanted to be. But the way Jarod was treating her, rejecting every friendly overture that she attempted made her lash out.

"Jarod," she started to say, wanting to apologize.

"Don't," Jarod ordered her. "Just don't." In a previous life, he would've found a snappy comeback but that was then. A different man, a different life. Now, he just ignored her name calling as mere background noise and her attempts at apologizing still left him unsure of how to respond.

Silence descended again on the car and which remained that way until they arrived at her hotel. Once they reached her room, Jarod didn't enter it.

Parker took a few steps into her room when she noticed that Jarod stopped following her. Turning around, she saw him standing outside in the corridor. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Do you want me to?" he replied. Jarod wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to enter or not.

Jarod was finally talking to her with more than a monosyllable word or a look. She took a deep breath before answering. "Yes, Jarod, please come in."

Hesitantly, he entered the room. Jarod looked around. A standard hotel with a dresser/tv armoire combination, table with chair, Parker's clothes hanging from the lone closet as well as strewn on the single king size bed, and a nightstand with a phone and a lamp on it.

"Forgive the mess but the FBI didn't give me a chance to put things away." Parker bent down to her bed and picked up a business suit to hang in the closet.

Smiling at the memories when he had to leave rather quickly when she and her sweeper teams got too close, an involuntary chuckle escaped his lips, "Sounds like those times when I had to bug out of my latest lair when you got too close to me, Parker."

She couldn't help but to join in his amusement. "Yeah, I guess I got a taste of my own medicine." Meeting his eye, seeing the twinkle there, brought a warm feeling to Parker. She also took in the smile on his face. Parker wanted to see more of that from Jarod. She resolved to do all she can to make that happen.

The chuckling died down and Jarod felt uncomfortable at the absolute attention Parker was paying to him. Feeling nervous around her was something that he thought he tamed when their "I run, you chase" game ended. Now, it was back. And, most galling of all, was that he knew the basis of that nervousness. Jarod was still on that roller coaster and still couldn't get off of it.

"What happens now, Jarod," Parker gently inquired. She felt the nervousness and was careful in what she said to him. With the knowledge of Rachel's death, Parker didn't want to do or say anything that could cause Jarod to erupt or bolt out of her room like a bat out of hell.

"How long do you plan on staying here, Parker?" Jarod had a feeling about what her plans were but wanted to hear her to confirm them.

"I'll be here for at least a couple of more nights then I'll have to find another place, preferably cheaper, to stay in." Parker already had made up her mind while waiting impatiently in that interrogation room for Jarod and _Ms. Donovan_ to return that she would stay indefinitely. Jarod needed her even though he was too stubborn of an ass right now to admit it.

"So you'll be staying for a while then? No other place to go?" probed Jarod.

"Yes, I'll be in town for some time." Remembering the harsh and sad parting at Ben's, she honestly told him, "There's no where else to go, Jarod."

"Can you afford a place of your own?" Seeing her eyes flashing, ready to snap at him, he pushed on, "I mean do you have enough money to get an apartment or something else?" He was worried about her, though he was loathed to admit it.

Parker's pride warred with her resolve to be open and truthful, especially with Jarod. Seeing him there, mutilated, reminded her of all the lies and the deceptions that the Centre entombed them in. "To be honest, I'll get by. Just. I'll have to find a job to supplement it; otherwise," giving him a bleak grin, "I'll be looking for great ramen recipes."

Her trust fund while substantial wasn't exorbitant. Buying the Porsche was, in hindsight, a mistake, but she didn't regret getting it. It was her symbol of being free after serving time in prison.

In another sign of his coming back to life, Jarod's heart went out to her. Seeing her telling him the truth rather than a prideful boast of being able to take care of herself, thank you very much, was new and eye opening. Parker was full of surprises ever since she appeared at his front door.

Jarod bit his lips. He couldn't shake the image of the Parker sitting in his living room begging for his forgiveness. The little girl staring out of her eyes during that moment. But he couldn't, wouldn't let her in. Parker hurt him too much. _But_, his inner voice spoke up, _she's changed. You've seen it with your own eyes._

The roller coaster car he was in was climbing up another hill, waiting to climb the crest and the gravity defying fall. Jarod walked past a suddenly wary Parker and parted the drapes. Outside he saw downtown College Park, with pedestrians heading to whatever destination they have in mind, traffic moving in fits and starts, and another hot and muggy summer day to be endured by everyone. He stared, trying to arrive at a decision. A turning point, a younger and much more innocent version of him would have said.

_Turning point._

Parker silently observed Jarod. He was peering out the windows looking at God knows what. She didn't say anything, preferring to let Jarod take the next move. After an interminable period, Parker saw Jarod bracing his back then turning around to face her. "Jarod?"

Jarod didn't answer her. At least not yet. He just watched her. Savor the way she looked. Even after a long and grueling day of being interrogated by the second highest person in the US intelligence community, Parker was still stunningly beautiful. Still smart, still strong willed, and with the same brashness that he remembered all too well. But, most of all, he was curious what the glimpses of that young, caring, decent girl that he saw, would be like if she grew up without the acidic touch of daddy and the Centre. Perhaps, upon reflection, he would find out soon enough.

Just as she was about to ask if he was alright, Miss Parker finally heard Jarod speak. What he said left her stunned, confused, but hopeful. "If you would like, you can stay in my home."

Parker, dazed from the topsy turvy changes in the last couple of days, could only croak out, "Yes, that would be fine."

_Turning points._

* * *

Jarod could feel the hollowness in his house. Ever since the day Rachel died, their house was missing its heart and soul. Now, something new was entering this living monument to his lost love. 

Make that someone new. A woman from his past, a girl who first stole his heart was going to stay in his sanctum sanctorum. A woman, if he wasn't careful, could steal his heart again.

Two days ago, Jarod would have scoffed if someone told him that Miss Parker would show up apologizing for putting him through so much hell, trying to reestablish their connection, and residing in his home.

But, now, here was Parker, uncertainly standing in the very room where Jarod forced her onto her knees and be searched. The same room where these emotionally damaged souls had their latest fiery verbal exchange.

Parker clutched her duffel bag close to her side as she looked around the living room with a different perspective. What she felt was amiss the last time she was here could now be explained. The death of Jarod's wife and his grief permeated this home. There was no escaping it.

Parker idly wondered how long before she couldn't bear it anymore and leave. She shook her head and gnashed her teeth. As long as Jarod needs me she would not leave. Ever. The steely determination and strong will that she had to cultivate as survival skills in the Darwinian atmosphere of the Centre were going to be needed as she planned on caring for Jarod and patiently rebuilding her bond with him.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Jarod closed the front door and carried in the two remaining suitcases. "I'll take you to your room, Parker."

"Call me Maureen," Parker asked of him. It was time to drop the Centre's Miss Parker and become someone new. She hoped by using her first name, like Momma always did before her death, would lead to a rebirth and a new life.

He looked at her without missing a beat. "Okay, Maureen, this way," gesturing to the hallway in front of them. Jarod decided that he wasn't going to question why she wanted him to use her first name at this time but he will very soon.

Parker took in the lived in appearance of his house. The last time she was here she had neither the time nor the inclination to really look at Jarod's home. But now that she did Parker was relieved that Jarod didn't put any sheets over the furniture with choking layers of dust clinging to them and with the window drapes closed to create an atmosphere of gloom. Rather, the house was light and airy from the uncovered windows with the walls painted a generic beige.

Following Jarod into the hallway, Parker saw some of the photos of his married life hanging from the walls. Looking left and right without being too obvious or falling behind to peer more closely at a particular picture, she still caught glimpses of Jarod and his wife smiling, laughing, and being happy together. There were also a couple of pictures of what she assumed were of them and their co-workers in group shots.

Jarod stopped and opened a door. He let Parker brush past him into her room then followed her. "This is the guest bedroom." Pointing to his right, "There's a adjoining full bathroom with shower and bathtub." Putting down her suitcases, he stood up and looked at her waiting for her to make a snide remark about her living space just like she always did years ago in a different lifetime.

Parker put down her duffle bag on top of the queen size bed and turned to face Jarod. Sudden realization hit her. She was alone with him with no one, not a sweeper, not Lyle scurrying to inform Daddy or "Uncle" Raines about her feelings for Jarod. The previous night, with the emotional turmoil she was in, it never occurred to her about this insight. An immense weight was lifted off her shoulder and her soul now. There was no one to show disapproval or judge her about her love for Jarod.

_Except for his late wife._

"Thank you, Jarod," she said, folding her arms in front of her chest. "I can pay for my stay, you don't need to worry about me being a freeloader," looking for a way to break the ice and trying to calm the fluttering of her heart upon her suggestive perception that they were alone in her bedroom.

Giving her a small reassuring smile, Jarod said, "Don't worry about it. You're staying here gratis and you're welcome."

Unknown to Parker, because her Inner Sense decided that this wasn't the time to speak up, Jarod shared the same insight. They were both alone, two adults standing in a bedroom, lost in their own thoughts and feelings.

Both of them looked at each other, standing stock still, hardly breathing, each recalling their memories of each other, their kiss, the stolen moments away from the nightmare that was the Centre, their once and future friendship, repressed desires and yearnings rolling over them like a tidal wave.

Then a grandfather clock chimed breaking the spell that both Jarod and Parker had fallen under. Coughing embarrassingly, Jarod briefly looked away then told her, "I'll get dinner started and give you time to put your things away." He made to leave the room.

Overwhelming curiosity forced Parker to finally ask the burning question that had haunted her since she found out Jarod was married. "Jarod," she hesitantly asked, "what was your wife's name?"

Jarod stilled for a moment then took a deep breath before answering her. "Rachel."

"She was good for you," Parker softly observed, sad eyes watching Jarod.

"No, not just good. She was everything to me," he hoarsely rasped out, and then he left her.

* * *

After they ate dinner and Jarod put the dishes away into the dishwasher, he took Parker on a tour of the house. 

Starting with the living room where they had their reunion, Jarod showed her his office/library, the master bedroom whose door was closed, a unused bedroom, the kitchen, garage, entertainment room, and, finally, another bedroom that was locked. Turning to face her, Jarod told her, "This room is off limits to you, Parker. Don't ever go in there. Are we clear?"

Standing before the locked door, she soberly replied, "Yes, Jarod." But her curiosity was piqued, so she asked him, "What's behind the door?"

A forlorn look appeared on Jarod's scarred face. "Dreams that were never meant to be."

Parker was perplexed by his strange answer, wondering if this was a clue to a puzzle for her to solve. Just like the old days. "Time to get ready for bed," he declared, cutting off any further inquiries. Jarod gently pulled her away from the mysterious room, leaving a lot of questions churning in Parker's mind.

* * *

Jarod didn't sleep though. He was up the entire night, all too aware of Parker's presence down the hall. That and the lingering guilt of somehow betraying Rachel left him wired and strung out. He was also assailed with second, third and fourth thoughts about having her stay in his home. 

Jarod was pacing at the foot of his bed, running his right hand through his hair in frustration and confusion, Jarod paused to look at the photo hanging above the fireplace mantle in the master retreat.

Sighing, he moved closer to look at it. It was the same wedding picture that he had framed on his desk in the office. The look of love on both Rachel's and his face was priceless. Reaching up to place his right forefinger on Rachel's smiling visage, Jarod closed his eyes and slowly, gently traced the curve of her face. He yearned to feel her warmth, the silken feeling of her skin, the words of wisdom and comfort coming from her full lips. Words that he needed to hear from her, to tell him what to do about Parker.

Jarod opened his eyes when his finger hit the metal edge of the frame. He let his hand drop, turned around, and walked purposely towards the nightstand. There was one thing that he had to do now. With his heart beating faster, Jarod reached down and picked up the bottle of sleeping pills.

Staring at the bottle in his hand, in spite of his promise to Rachel, Jarod never really ruled out this option. That was why he kept it next to him whenever the darkness became too much. The hole that Rachel's death left in his heart was still raw and bleeding. Despite Tushar's counseling, the concern of his colleagues, and the ever watchfulness of Cloud Runner, he still harbored suicidal tendencies. Jarod was sorely tempted, when he was on a mission, to just stand up and take a bullet. Nobody would think twice that he was killed by hostile fire. But he couldn't, not if it meant putting his comrades lives in danger. That was a line he would not cross.

Shaking his head, Jarod headed towards the master bathroom. Putting the bottle down on the counter, he opened it, with long practice, one handed. Picking the bottle up, Jarod watched expressionlessly as the pills spilled forth into the toilet. After the last pill splashed into the bowl, he flushed them away.

With Parker's traumatic past of seeing and finding the people she loved killed, Jarod wasn't going to contribute to that kind of horror in her pain-filled life.

Leaving the bathroom, Jarod began re-pacing. He contemplated what Parker's presence had done to his life so far.

Within forty eight hours of appearing on his doorstep, Parker turned his life upside down, inside out. Mentally snarling at her for making him feel emotions that he thought belonged in the past and breaking a sworn vow to Rachel to never feel them again.

Jarod also remembered emotionally and mentally cutting the bond between him and Parker. A bond that he was sure he buried in a shallow grave out in the middle of nowhere. But now that bond was insistently calling to him, to reforge it like Parker tenderly asked the other night.

Then there was his conviction to not trust her when she was on her knees being searched by him. He had no reason to trust her, given the circumstances under which they parted, but when she asked, no, he recalled, pleaded, for a different beginning, there was the little girl, the one he trusted implicitly, that led him a day later to allowing Parker stay here.

Jarod groaned aloud. He put his ass on the line for Parker when he protected her from his boss. Another woman he deeply admired and respected. Also, a woman not to be trifled with. It spoke volumes, in his unconscious mind, that he did it for Miss Parker.

These thoughts and feelings he already went through. Now, it was time for him to decide what the next step would be.

Which was what, he wondered. Jarod wasn't sure how long she would stay or how long he would let her stay here. He also made a mental note to call Ben and find out why she left and suddenly show up at his doorstep. What made her come here? He was certain that the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him again and wanting to renew their friendship on top of that.

Jarod frowned. Something was missing. Parker was leaving something out; she wasn't completely open with him. But his instincts and knowledge of her said whatever it was, wasn't dangerous. Just mysterious.

He sighed impatiently. He wanted to stalk down to her room and demanded to know what she wasn't telling him. But it might do the opposite. Parker may clam up and, knowing her, she would stubbornly refuse to answer him.

The best approach, Jarod concluded, would be to patiently wait until Parker decided it was time to tell him what she was holding back.

* * *

If Jarod had bothered to leave his bedroom and walked down to Parker's bedroom, he would have seen her with the same dilemma. 

She also was very conscious of Jarod's presence just at the end of the hall. Unlike Jarod, Parker several times had her hand on the doorknob ready to open the door and go down to see him.

Being this close, yet so far, from Jarod was torture. She can see him lying there alone in his bed, with no one to comfort him. A situation that she ached to change.

Guilt, remorse, and sadness took their turns going through her heart. Guilt at the only possibility to have a married Jarod; remorse at the long journey that finally brought her here to this moment, a journey that she didn't have to undertake; and sadness over Rachel's death. A woman she never met, forever denied to know, and very special for Jarod to have fallen in love with.

These feelings were the only things that prevented her from leaving her bedroom and going to Jarod. So she let her hand drop away from the doorknob and walked back over to the opened window.

Just like the nights spent at Ben's she looked up at the stars. They were a source of solace to her then as they were now. Looking at them, she found a focus point as she struggled to find a deeper meaning to Jarod's offer of letting her stay in his home.

She wasn't sure if she can compete against Rachel's memories, her presence lingered everywhere, her touches obvious where ever Parker looked.

Maybe this is what Jarod wanted, a suspicious undertone speaking in her mind. To force her to face the facts of his marriage and his love for another woman.

But, the Jarod that barged in to the interrogation room, didn't act or felt like a vindictive man. Rather, Parker believed he said something, did something to the fed to let her be released. More to the point, it felt to her that he cared about her.

A warm feeling spread throughout her body and a slow, loving grin appeared on her face. It was something she could smile about and savor over.

Her smile faded slowly as her pragmatic mind went to work planning on her next step. She had to be sure that he did care. The only way to find out if he did was to look for signals from Jarod. Words, gestures, anything that would let her latch on and believe that he was the Jarod that she desperately wanted to appear again to her.

Parker sat by the window watching the night turn into day, accompanied by her insecurities, hopes, and dreams.

Once her alarm went off, she stiffly stood up and went to get herself ready for the morning and see what Jarod had in store for the day.

* * *

When Parker finally got cleaned and dressed, Jarod was already up and about in the kitchen. Using his culinary skills learned during several of his pretends, Jarod whipped up a mouth watering breakfast for his guest. 

Upon entering the kitchen Parker was struck by the delicious aromas of the meal laid out in the dining area. Her mouth started to water and her stomach rumbled. "If the smells are any indication, Jarod, the food must be delicious," she declared. "Oh, and a good morning to you."

"Good morning, Par-, uh Maureen. Grab a seat and dig in," Jarod told her, while pouring out two cups of coffee for each of them. He put one cup down in front of Parker as she settled herself into her seat.

Jarod sat down facing her. After taking a sip of his hot coffee, Jarod asked her, "How was your first night? Did you sleep well?" He was concern because he knew about her sleeping problems.

Miss Parker first instinct was to tell Jarod that she slept like a baby. Her ingrained Centre training was to never show any weakness to anyone. Not even to Jarod.

Now, with Jarod waiting expectantly for her answer, Parker overcame her Centre training and bluntly told him, "No, Jarod, I had a rough night." Smiling wanly at him, she continued, "I couldn't sleep at all, to be honest with you." She picked up her cup of coffee and took a long sip as she waited for Jarod's reply.

His response was immediate. "Go back to bed, Maureen," Jarod urged. "I'll have this," indicating the plates of food, "refrigerated so you can eat them later." Jarod was about to stand up and help guide her back to her bedroom when Parker made a stopping motion.

"I'm alright, Jarod," giving him a reassuring smile. Putting down the cup of coffee, Parker reinforced her message by putting some food onto her plate and proceeding to eat them. "See, I'm ok right now. I can always take a nap in a few hours. Please, Jarod," Parker insisted, "sit down and eat your breakfast."

An uncertain look appeared on Jarod's face. "Are you sure you don't want to get some sleep?"

"Yes, Jarod," insisted Parker, allowing a hint of annoyance to appear in her voice. "Please sit down and eat your breakfast." A crooked grin appeared on her face. "Your food is getting cold."

Returning her smile with a one of his own, which made Parker's heart lurch, he sat down and proceeded to attack his food.

Smiling fondly at him, she remarked, "Looks like some things don't change, eh, Jarod?"

"Nope, Miss-um, Maureen."

Upon that note, the two of them ate their breakfast marked by a companionable banter. Both stuck to light subjects, careful not to bring up anything serious too soon for fear of ruining whatever it is they were embarking upon.

After Jarod and Parker, upon her insistence on helping, put the dishes away, Jarod requested that she wait for him in the entertainment room.

As she stood waiting for Jarod, she took in the impressive array of gadgets and games spread throughout the room. From the pool table in one section, to the sixty inch plasma tv and accompanying home theater system in another, a built-in wet bar caught her notice, as well as the dart board and portable game systems lying all about.

Parker shook her head in wonder and relief. This was the old Jarod. Someone who had fun, enjoyed being among the mass of humanity, and openly curious about the world surrounding him. She just hoped that she can see the old Jarod again.

A noise behind caused her to turn around. It was Jarod carrying a nylon case and, what seemed to her, three binders.

Jarod gestured for her to walk towards the sofa facing the flat panel TV. Without waiting for Parker, he sat down and started unzipping what she saw close up was a DVD carrying case.

"What's going on, Jarod?"

Without directly answering her, Jarod turned his one remaining good eye and said, "I have to leave for work now. But before I do, I want you see these," gesticulating with his prosthetic left arm at the DVDs and the binders.

"What are they," Parker inquired, getting a strong feeling that they were special to Jarod.

Letting out the breath he was holding, Jarod informed her, "They're my wedding videos and pictures. The binders also contained snapshots of Rachel and me doing…" he had to pause to get pass the lump in his throat, "things together."

Parker was taken aback at Jarod's action. "Wha, wha, why Jarod?" Recovering from her shock, she repeated the question, "Why are you doing this?"

Giving her a knowing look, he stated, "I know you Parker. Your curiosity would kill you if you didn't know what I've been up to the last five years and with whom." Alluding to the DVDs and the binders lying on the coffee table, he continued, "I decided to save you the time and energy in working up your nerve to ask me about my life. This is a start."

"I don't know what to say, Jarod," Parker responded. Yes, she was burning with interest in what happened to Jarod while she was locked up in prison. Parker couldn't control the momentary flash of anger that ripple through her body as she recalled the crushing sense of despair when she expected Jarod to show up to see or write to her when she was locked up. But he never did. Neither did anyone else. Even Sydney disappointed her.

Ignorant of her dark mood, Jarod gave her a reassuring look. "Don't say anything. Just watch them." Picking up the discs, he moved over to the DVD player and put five of them in. Standing up, he cautioned her, "There are areas where I'm not interested in discussing with you. I'll tell you when you're going there. Okay?"

Parker nodded her assent. She'd no other choice. "Okay. Are you going to show me how to work that thing?"

A small smile appeared on Jarod's face. "That's what I was about to show you." He proceeded to show Parker how to operate both the TV and DVD player. Looking at his wristwatch, he saw that it was almost time for him to leave. "I have to go to work. Take your time watching them and the photos. I'll call you around noon to see how you are."

"Sure, Jarod." She followed Jarod to the garage.

While walking together to his car, Jarod gave her one more bit of advice. "Don't leave the house."

"Oh, why's that, Jarod? Am I your prisoner?" she asked him, eyebrows arching. Her hackles were raised when he told her this.

Letting out an irritated snort, he looked at her, "No, you're not a prisoner. If you are, you wouldn't be in my house." Seeing the anger in Parker's eyes, he gently grasped her right arm, "The reason I'm telling you is that you don't know the alarm code and don't have any house keys. I don't have the time to give them to you now. I'm cutting it close making it in to work as it is. Okay, Maureen?"

Her temper cooled a little upon hearing Jarod's reasoned explanation. Jerking her arm away from his grasp, shivering at the knowledge that it was his artificial arm, she rasped out, "Okay, I'll stay inside."

They continued the rest of the way in silence. Opening the garage door, getting into and starting his car, Jarod informed her, "I'll be back home around 6:00pm or so. Do you want me to order in or do you want to wait until I get back to whip something up?"

Her feelings of being an outsider gripping her, Parker snapped, "I'm not in the mood to wait for you to play Iron Chef, so go order something."

"Do you have anything in particular," Jarod asked wearily.

"Surprise me," Parker barked, folding her arms under her breasts and giving him a sharp look.

Putting the car into reverse, he shot back, "Fine." Leaving her standing there in the garage, he drove away with a squeal of tires.

* * *

Still put off by Jarod's dictates, Parker, in a contrarian mood, decided not to go and watch the DVDs and photos until later. Rather, she decided to take a closer look, with her own eyes, the life that Rachel left behind. 

She began by going into Jarod's office. Looking at the comfortable room, she could see Jarod's fingerprints all over this place. But sprinkled throughout were reminders of Rachel. Stepping closer to peer at them, Parker saw that that they included a FBI agent's badge, a .40 caliber Smith and Wesson semiautomatic pistol, a chipped and battered coffee mug with the word "Rachel" imprinted on it, her graduation photo showing her with her brother and the FBI Director presenting her with her FBI badge, and the wedding photo that, unaware to Parker, was Jarod's favorite.

A bittersweet look appeared in Parker's blue-gray eyes. She couldn't help but noticed the few precious mementos that were links to his past. His father's Air Medal, a picture of his mother, the Cowboy and Indian lunch box…

Links to his past. A past that the Centre worked tirelessly to destroy. To instill in him the belief that the Centre was the beginning, the middle, and the end in his life.

She moved on to the living room. The room, which she vividly remembered a few days ago, where Jarod had his gun pointed to her head. Here, she could see the feminine touches in the way the room was furnished. The curtains and drapes surrounding the windows, prints depicting scenes home and hearth, potpourri scenting the air, the furniture arranged to welcome friends, family, and guests. Parker understood Jarod could have decorated this room but instinctively can tell it was Rachel. The only object that marred this tastefully decorated room was the recliner that Jarod used. She smiled, just imagining the specious arguments Jarod would have use on Rachel on why he had to have his recliner in this spot and in this room. _Men._

Respecting Jarod's requests not to enter the locked bedroom and the master bedroom, Parker continued to gather clues to what Rachel was made of and who she was.

Seeing, touching, and smelling the artifacts of Rachel's life left a clearer picture of her for Parker to meditate on. The blank slate was being filled in but there were holes that she still needed to fill in.

Finished with her room by room exploration, Parker decided it was time to go and watch the DVDs and the pictures that Jarod so thoughtfully provided for her. Some more holes would be filled in.

* * *

Jarod drove off angry at Parker's insinuation that he was keeping her prisoner. _You would think after being held prisoner for most of my life, I would never put anyone, including Parker, in that kind of situation, _Jarod fumed. 

If she were a prisoner, Parker would never have left the FBI office. Jarod continued driving with those thoughts in his mind until his cell phone began ringing. Glancing at the number, a number he knew very well, Jarod pulled over to the nearest sidewalk. He didn't want any distractions while he was talking to this particular caller.

"She's here," Jarod answered without preamble. He knew the caller would be asking about Parker's whereabouts.

Listening to the other end, Jarod continued to answer the questions his caller posed.

"She's fine."

"Parker has changed. You wouldn't believe, or maybe you would, how much she's changed."

"Get ready for her on Saturday. I'm sure you'll give her a very warm reception," Jarod said, with bittersweet melancholy.

"Yes, I'll be with her." Darkly, he added, "I'll make sure she doesn't run away from you. She has a lot to answer to you and to me."

"I won't let go of it," Jarod spit out, anger building. "You, of all people, should welcome what's coming to her."

"Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Yes, I promise," an exasperated Jarod said to the caller.

"Yeah, you, too. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in two days." Jarod snapped his phone closed and flung it on to the empty front passenger seat.

Rubbing his right hand over his scarred face, Jarod can only shake his head at the absolute absurdity of his situation. One moment, Parker and him would be friendly, the next fighting each other over real and perceived slights.

"When will this end?" he tiredly asked to an oblivious world. When will they break this vicious circle?

Their prickly relationship was old, familiar terrain. Both he and Parker easily fell back into their roles when things got too hot and steam had to be released. He was tired of it and, he suspected, so did Parker.

But even this knowledge wouldn't prevent him from letting down his guard around Parker, or Maureen, as she insists on being called now. Far from it. Jarod would protect her but he wouldn't turn his back on that woman.

While getting back into traffic, he smiled humorlessly as he pictured the look on Parker's face once she met face to face with his caller and the changes wrought upon him.

It will be something that all three of them will take to their graves.

* * *

**A/N:** It took a while to finish this. With work, the holidays, a health scare, and my addiction to reading fanfic, all added to a delayed posting. It also didn't help that my motivation wasn't there for some time. 

I don't know when I'll post my next chapter. Maybe Dec or Jan. Who knows?

Thanks for the reviews so far. I hope to get a lot more for this chapter.

Enjoy your holidays. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 13

Parker sat on the plush, deep-cushioned sofa absently running her fingers over the buttons of the remote control. With trepidation, she turned on the home theater system and there, in high definition glory, was a scene from Rachel's and Jarod's wedding.

Dressed in a dignified black tuxedo with a red rose threaded through a buttonhole on his lapel, Jarod never looked so handsome as he was then, never mind the scars and eye patch. They only added to his attractiveness.

Standing next to him was his father, Major Charles. He looked the epitome of an officer and a gentleman dressed as he was in the formal Air Force Mess Dress uniform. He was beaming and holding forth with the audience as they all waited for the bride to appear.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was an observation that there were several cameras employed as there were multiple angles that she viewed. One of the angles showed the rest of Jarod's family. Margaret was jovial and smiling without the stress lines that Parker always saw whenever she came close to her. Next to her were Jarod's clone and, leaning a bit closer, Ethan, her and Jarod's half-brother. Lastly, there was Angelo, the once and future friend of Jarod's and her, a gentle smile fixed on his expressive face.

The view switched to the altar. Making up part of the wedding party was Emily, Jarod's sister. Dressed in pink, she was either the maid of honor or one of the bridesmaids. While not as ebullient as her father or brother, she also was smiling and giggling with the rest of the wedding party.

Parker was riveted by the ceremony on the TV. Belatedly, she recalled telling Momma that one day she would marry Jarod. She bit down hard on her lips, her eyes watering as her long ago vow crumbled in front of her.

She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes as soon as she saw the wedding party fell silent and started to move to their assigned places. The guests fell silent and stood up as the "Here Comes the Bride" began playing in the church.

Parker sucked in a breath as Rachel appeared at the end of the aisle. The bride was radiant in a beautiful white strapless gown with a veil that couldn't hide the smile on her face. Clutching her bridal bouquet, she was walked down the aisle by a man who was about her age.

As the two of them approached the rest of the wedding party, Parker's anxiety rose. Rationally, she knew that this happened five years ago, but emotionally, it was just happening now and she was outside the church desperately trying to stop something that shouldn't have taken place at all.

It was supposed to be her standing next to Jarod, exchanging vows with him, with the priest solemnly pronouncing them husband and wife and kissing each other for the first time as a wedded couple. Not Rachel, this…this interloper.

Instead, rooted to the sofa, Parker watched helplessly as the wedding ceremony continued. The man who was escorting Rachel handed her off to Jarod who gave off a dazzling smile at his bride.

Parker was clenching the sofa with her fists as she listened to first Rachel then Jarod spoke their vows to each other. They were traditional vows, just like the ones that she would have insisted upon for her never-to-be wedding.

Then she raggedly uttered out, "YES!" as the priest, Father Moore, ritually asked if anyone objected to Jarod and Rachel getting married. But as the video showed, no one objected. The rest of the ceremony continued up to when Father Moore finally pronounced them husband and wife.

Parker's body went rigid as the life was sucked out of her when Jarod carefully lifted the veil covering Rachel's face and they bent towards each other and kissed. A long, loving kiss accompanied by clapping, whistling, and laughter from their invited guests. A kiss that she should have been giving and receiving.

Fade to black. Parker fumbled with the remote control before she got the DVD player to pause the rest of the disc.

Distractedly, she dropped the remote control onto the carpet. Parker stood up agitated. She couldn't believe how devastating it was to see the actual ceremony. Since she first met Jarod, she always believed that he belonged to her and she to him. But Daddy and the Centre destroyed what, to her young mind, was something inevitable.

But it wasn't to be. One of her deeply held secrets was that one day she would wind up marrying Jarod. The only people who knew about it were Momma and Daddy. Momma just smiled and hugged her upon hearing her declaration. Daddy glowered when she told him.

It was shortly thereafter that talk of her going to a boarding school in Europe first became dinner table discussion. With Momma's death, what was abstract talk became reality. Years passed before she saw Jarod again and during those years, Daddy made sure she turned against the only boy than man she truly loved.

Seeing the kiss between Jarod and Rachel that sealed their marriage left her desolated. Parker knew she had to see the rest of the video. It felt like masochism, but more of penance; to see what her life choices had done to her.

Jarod had it all, she told herself. A wife, a house, a well paying job. Looking at his history, the odds were stacked against him at living the American Dream but he did it. For a little while, at least, until the odds decided to punish him for challenging them.

Hugging herself, Parker strode around the room working to dispel the strain of watching his wedding. It was just the start of the damn video. There were more, much more to see and to endure.

She stopped where she was and headed back to the sofa. Bending down to pick up the remote control, Parker sat down and press play. Sighing, she mentally braced herself for more wedded bliss from the happy couple.

The next thing she was saw was the reception. It looked like it was held at a hotel ballroom. Where ever it was, it was packed. She noted a lot of faces that she ran across while chasing Jarod across the country. Other faces she didn't recognize. She assumed that they were Rachel's friends or family members.

There were the obligatory speeches by the best man, Major Charles, and the maid of honor, Emily, than both Jarod and Rachel followed up by thanking everybody for being there and sharing in their joy, and the cutting of the wedding cake.

Parker cracked an unwilling half-smile at Jarod's and Rachel's cake cutting playfulness. The first thing she noticed was that the cake wasn't the traditional white. Instead, it was chocolate. _Jarod's sweet tooth strikes again._ And, in a twist to the traditional three tier cake, it was shaped like Cupid shooting an arrow through a heart. Parker would have bet it was Jarod who baked the cake. It would have fit in with his quirky sense of humor. Lastly, of course, were the bride and groom shoving cake into the other's face.

They were having a blast at their wedding. Parker could only envy Rachel. There she was married to a man she only knew for at least three years while here was the woman who'd known Jarod since she was a child and can only be a spectator to an event that she dreamt of since she was a very young girl.

The video soon shifted to the next excruciating act. The dance. Parker's eyes continued to mist. It was torturous to watch them. Their first dance as a married couple. An uncontrolled groan escaped her lips. This was almost too much to bear.

But she couldn't tear her eyes away; Parker was too absorbed by what was happening on the DVD. The song that Jarod and Rachel danced to was one that Parker remembered listening to before coming back to the Centre full time. Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" provided the mood for what Jarod and Rachel felt towards each other. Jarod had his black gloved left hand on Rachel's waist while his other hand was upright holding her left hand. Rachel's right hand was holding a handful of the bridal train. They slowly danced with a happy and appreciative audience quietly cheering them on.

Listening to the lyrics, Parker's emotional dams finally burst. She sat there body shaking, sobbing in agony. An agony that was much, much worse than the loss of her mother and Thomas.

The lyrics finally made her understand what Rachel meant to Jarod. After seeing this, did she even have a chance to have Jarod look at her, treat her, and love her like he did with Rachel? Or, would she wind up a spinster, forever pining away for a lost love? Parker already knew one thing; she would never love another man. All of them would pale next to Jarod.

Wracked by her sobbing, she missed the other scenes that appeared on the TV. Only after she stopped crying did she went back to where she left off and watched the rest of the DVDs, with red eyes and a stuffy nose providing the only distractions to the pained atmosphere of the room.

Once their song finished, the couple stopped dancing and commenced to the next wedding tradition. The throwing of the bouquet and garter.

With Margaret and Major Charles exhortations, all the single women were grouped together while Rachel had her back turned to them. After giving two false starts, much to laughing objections, Rachel finally threw it and a young girl caught it. She was Billie Vaughn aka Dupree. Parker remembered that one case where Jarod posed as a pool hustler and proved that Billie's father was murdered by another pool hustler who was also a racist.

Next, it was Jarod. Once he was done making a show of pulling the garter off Rachel's left leg, he tossed it over his head to the bachelors. Some of them quickly moved away from the garter as soon as it was in the air, while the rest jostled to get it. The lucky bachelor who got it was Jarod's clone. Parker's eyes glowed with warmth as she hoped that he did have a girlfriend or even a fiancé. It would be wonderful to have something nice happen to him.

Parker couldn't help but recall the first time she encountered Jarod's clone. It was jarring to see him sitting in that cell in Donoterase. It was like she was in a time warp and transported back to when Jarod was a teenager. Unchanged and looking at her with the same eyes full of curiosity and wonder. The same boy who worshipped her and was her best friend at that age.

What was his name? she wondered. Who chose it? Him? Or, someone else? She could see Jarod going up to his brother/son/clone and giving a firm handshake and a hug. They were both laughing at whatever Jarod whispered into his ear. Then the rest of the bachelors began pounding the clone's back, shouting congratulations, and whistling.

Finally, the end was here. The shot showed the newly married couple leaving the hotel under a shower of rice and a final round of applause, cheers, and clapping. Parker watched as Jarod held the front passenger door open for his bride to enter, then closing it, to go over to the other side and got behind the steering wheel.

With a blare of the car horn and their arms waving from the windows of their BMW, the scene ended with the camera focused on the signed taped to the trunk of their car.

"We're Married!"

* * *

Jarod stopped at an Appleby's to pick up the order he called earlier. With that chore done, he drove at a leisurely pace. He needed some time to brace himself for another of Parker's outbursts.

He frowned slightly. With the day almost over, Jarod hoped that whatever set off Parker this morning, her temper would cool off and they can go back to their uneasy co-existence. But he knew that Parker could carry a grudge so he didn't give too much odds of her being nice and welcoming when he got home.

Still, shrugging his shoulders unconsciously, he can hope.

As he entered the kitchen and put down their dinner on the small kitchen table, Jarod was surprised that Parker wasn't there to greet him, or more realistically, snarling and hissing at him for his latest sin, imagined or real, of pissing her off.

Puzzled, he went off in search of her. He checked the bedrooms, making sure the one that was locked was still locked, and was heading off to check the living room when he paused to poke his head into the entertainment room.

There she was. Sitting in front of the TV with a blue screen displayed on it. Motionless.

Jarod sighed. Silently watching her, he half expected something like this would happen but wasn't sure because he wouldn't, couldn't sim Parker. But now that it did happen, he straightened himself and walked into the room, eyes fixed on the rigid figure in front of him.

Turning off the TV and the home theater system, Jarod turned and stood directly before her, noticing that she had a faraway look, seeing something that only she can see. He waited momentarily, hoping that Parker would come out of her trance-like state upon seeing him in front of her.

He couldn't imagine what went through Maureen's mind as she sat there watching his wedding ceremony. From her stock still stance, Jarod figured something in it was too much for her.

A few moments elapsed and then Jarod slowly kneeled in front of her. Looking directly into her hypnotic steel blue-gray eyes, his heart always beating a little faster upon seeing them, no flare of recognition appeared.

Softly, Jarod spoke to her. "Maureen? Are you alright?"

No response. "Parker?"

Again, no response.

Leaning forward, grasping her shoulders, Jarod gently shook her. Suddenly, her eyes started blinking again and, observing her, saw Parker focusing her gaze on him. "Jarod, wha-. Back so soon?"

Quizzically, Jarod raised his eyebrows. "It's just after 7pm, Maureen. I got our dinner in the kitchen."

Parker looked at him dazedly. "Oh, uh…" She was speechless. If Jarod had ask her how long had she been sitting there, she wouldn't have been able to provide him with an answer. Nor, would she be eager to tell him what she was thinking about after watching the last DVD.

She would have been mortified, if not appalled, to tell him that she was substituting herself in Rachel's place throughout the wedding ceremony and the reception afterwards.

How Jarod would react to _that_, she didn't want to find out.

Seeing that she was flustered, Jarod stood up and offered her his hand. A small reassuring smile appeared on his scarred face. "C'mon, Maureen. Let's eat." He hoped that with a full stomach will help calm her nerves and he can find out what on the videos got her in this state of mind.

Grateful for the graceful excuse to get her mish mash emotions back under control, Parker took his proffered hand and stood up.

There they stood, just like in the past, and the few times since she showed up at his house, too near to each other, looking into each other's eyes, feeling the heat given off by the other, hearts fluttering, throats constricting, and inhaling the other's intoxicating scent.

Both of them felt the electric tingle coursing through their arms as they held hands. Neither wanted to let go. Instead, the two of them silently delighted in the sensual touch of the other.

Jarod and Parker were aware that this was another one of their "moments". Only this time, it was Parker who decided to end it by letting go of his hand and brushing past him. "Dinner's getting cold," she remarked in passing.

"Yeah," Jarod breathed out, trailing behind her.

After dinner, both of them wound up in Jarod's office. Parker was sitting tensely on one of the leather armchairs with Jarod sitting in an identical one facing her.

Not wanting to dance around the topic, Jarod went to the heart of the matter. "You were bothered by the dvds," he flatly declared. "What was it? What can I do to help?"

Parker gave Jarod a guarded look. She was upset that Jarod saw her in the state that she was in after watching his wedding. She was further upset that he was on his best behavior after rousing her from her trance as though she was a fragile item to be handled delicately.

"I'm fine," she lied. She was emotionally hurting and was damn if she would let Jarod see it.

"No, you're not," Jarod said, giving her a knowing look. He cocked his head closer to Parker. "In hindsight, I made a mistake in letting you watch those dvds, Parker. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," Parker hurriedly assured him, her pride flaring. This wasn't what she was expecting. "I'm honored that you would actually let me see them." This part she wasn't lying.

Jarod nodded in acknowledgement but he wasn't to be deterred or fooled. Something disturbed her and he was going to find out it was even if it took all night and preventing Parker from storming out of his office. "You still haven't told me what disturbed you, or, is it more in the manner of pissing you off?" he asked, bringing the topic back front and center.

Parker heaved a frustrated groan. "It's everything, okay," waving her hands in the air. She stood up and looked down at Jarod. She faltered for a moment as she saw the care and concern in his hypnotic brown eye. No matter that he lost one eye, his remaining one still drew her in. "It just reminded me of what I missed out on."

Sudden clarity appeared on Jarod's face. It turned out to be wrong though. "Thomas," understanding and sadness showing in his voice.

_No, not Thomas_, _you idiot, you and me,_ was on the tip of her tongue but she managed to restrain herself from saying those words as she realized that Jarod unknowingly gave her an out of her predicament. She loved Jarod but her Inner Voice was suddenly blaring in her head. _Not yet._ The time wasn't ripe yet for him to know how she felt and what her hopes were for them.

Rachel was still the ghost that haunted both of them. Until Jarod was ready to admit that she was really gone and that there was another woman who loved him just as much as Rachel did but differently then it wouldn't do any good for her to express what she was feeling.

Putting her rarely used Pretender gene to work, Parker stood up and walked over to a window. She looked out the window into the darkened front yard and the empty street beyond. "Yes, Thomas." He would have known that she was lying when Parker couldn't maintain eye contact with him.

Jarod stood up and walked over to her. Standing next to her, very conscious of the warmth coming from her, he tried to put her at ease. "You and Thomas would have had a wonderful marriage." He paused and then added, "You would have made a wonderful wife."

On guard against any traitorous feelings he might show towards her, especially if she decided to hug him again like she did in the FBI interrogation room, Jarod continued. "It was my fault that Thomas died and you had to go through such pain. I assumed the Centre had one last shred of decency left and would have let you go. I was wrong. I'm so sorry."

Parker watched Jarod approached her from the reflection on the window. It was all she could do not to turn around and embraced him. Then she felt him next to her. She closed her eyes, her heart suddenly beating faster, and her stomach doing flip flops.

The tingling spread outwards from her heart.

It lasted only until she heard the words uttered from Jarod. Yes, she thought woefully, her wedding to Thomas would have been wonderful. But glancing over Jarod's profile, she knew the _marriage_ was doomed to failure the minute the priest told Thomas that he can kiss his bride.

She would make a great wife but only for the extraordinary man, in her admittedly biased view, standing next to her. Now, Jarod was here next to her, for her, trying to comfort her from something that would never have worked.

Using her left hand, Parker grasped Jarod's right arm and made him look at her. Peering into his right eye, she reassured him, "It wasn't your fault, Jarod. None of it was. Like you pointed out to me in so many late night calls and just now," letting go of him, "the Centre was always behind all the misery that we went through."

Parker's sincerity apparent on her face, Jarod briefly considered letting go of his residual anger that his caller brought up. She was in pain and he faltered momentarily in going forward with his plans for her for the upcoming weekend but considering what kind of hell the other person went through, Jarod's momentary weakness disappeared quickly.

Jarod rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a balancing act between anger and…lo-concern for Parker. Right now, he acted on his concern for her and save his anger at her for the weekend.

"You certain about that, Parker?" Turning to face her directly, he went on, "Daddy certainly convinced you, for a hell of a long time, that I was the bane of the Centre and, by bringing me in, the Centre would all be well." He gave her a tiny smile to take away some of the sting of his comment but looking at Parker she wasn't fooled.

She looked at him from head to toe as if seeing something repugnant for the first time in her life. "Tell me something that I don't know, Mr. Obvious-Man. I wasted all of my adult life believing Daddy and his lies."

Parker turned away from Jarod to prevent him from seeing the pain and despair on her face. Her breath catched as she felt him step right up to her.

"That's in the past now, Maureen. You got a new start in life, not with me," Jarod hastily inserted, seeing Parker's body tightened up, "but with someone out there who will finally see you for what you are."

Finally turning around, Parker stood toe to toe with Jarod. Ignoring the closeness of him, she demanded of him, "What do you see in me, Jarod?"

Jarod looked at her, noticing the curiosity and caution in her eyes. He let the silence build as he formed his answer to her question. "Someone who is compassionate, caring, and warm-hearted."

"You really see those qualities in me?" Parker's skepticism and doubt were evident in her tone and body language. Yet, in spite of these misgivings, she yearned for affirmation that she wasn't just the Ice Queen, just Daddy's little girl; that there was still a part of Catherine in her soul, in her makeup. Now, Jarod was affirming it and she was grateful for that fact.

"Yes," Jarod confidently answered her. "I first saw them in a little girl who befriended a lonely boy. She helped me get through some dark times," his voice turning sad, "until she went away."

Parker heard and felt the sadness coming from Jarod. "Do you believe," she slowly asked, "that little girl will come back from wherever she went?"

They were still close together, way past invading the other's personal space, and not noticing or caring at all. Both of them knew her question was something both avoided answering, finding out about, and argued over with ever since he escaped from the Centre. Now, Parker waited with bated breath for Jarod to answer.

Jarod knew the answer that lay in his mind. It was his heart that was still having such a hard time accepting though. Closing his remaining eye, he softly told her, "I can see her so far away." Opening his right eye to pin her with his look, Jarod continued, "But she's slowly getting closer with each step taken."

No words were spoken. The only sound in Jarod's office was the ticking of a cuckoo clock hanging from one of the walls. Jarod and Parker stood there, a crushing embrace, a passionate kiss away from each other, yet both stood rooted in place, held back by his suppurating wound of losing Rachel, her by her unwillingness to face another rejection by Jarod so soon after the last one, both by their shared pain filled past.

Jarod was drawn to Parker. Just like he did in those faraway days when he was growing up and she was the only star in his dark and grim universe. His rigid self-control started to loose control as his right hand went up and…

Headlights from a passing car briefly lit up both of their faces and, in that moment, the spell that bewitched both of them was broken.

Jarod blinked. Pulling his head back and leaning slightly back from her, he spoke quietly but sincerely, "When you find that special guy, I'll be the first to tell him how smart, tough, and caring you are."

"Do you think so?" she whispered, voice roughened by what she felt upon hearing Jarod's description of her. They were the last words she expected to hear coming from his mouth. She successfully prevented her eyes from clouding.

"Yes," he reassured her. Putting some more space between them, Jarod added, with a slight grin, "I'll even plan your wedding."

"You, my wedding planner?" disbelief in her voice. Parker cocked her head to one side and gave him a dubious look. With the spell between them gone, she also took a step back. But, she was extremely disappointed at a miss opportunity, remembering what happened in front of Ocee's fireplace.

"Um, hum," nodded Jarod, half-grin still in place. "Even though I can't get away with a lot of pretends anymore due to my rugged good looks," gesturing to his scarred face to emphasize his sarcasm, "this is something I can do. And," locking his right eye with hers, "it's something that I want to do for you."

She was inwardly pleased at Jarod's show of concern for her. _A sign_. Something that she was looking for, prayed for. But Parker didn't let on to Jarod what she was feeling. It was too early and their relationship was still fragile as evident from their latest bickering. So, instead, she told Jarod, "Thank you. I don't know what to say. It's wonderful of you to offer."

Jarod replied, "Just say yes, Maureen. That's all that I really want to hear from you."

"Yes, Jarod."

He nodded approval then shifting away from Parker, with her following him, they headed back to the chairs that they sat on before.

With both of them comfortably ensconced in the armchairs, Jarod asked her, "Did you have a chance to go through the photo albums?"

Parker shook her, "No, I, uh, didn't have time to look at them." In fact, she was embarrassed to admit that she forgot about them entirely as she was absorbed by the wedding videos. "I can look at them later."

Glancing at the clock and noticing it was still not too late, Jarod told her, "There's still time. Let me go get them," standing up. "I'll be right back."

Maureen waited until he left the room before she allowed the dismay she felt showed on her face. She didn't want to through another gauntlet of domestic bliss featuring Jarod and Rachel but there was no way to avoid this. What she had to do now was brace herself internally to see it through and plaster on a polite expression for Jarod's comfort. The last thing she wanted was Jarod to know that looking at the photos was like twisting a knife in her heart and soul over what might-have-beens.

She heard footsteps coming down the hallway then Jarod appeared in the doorway carrying the three albums. Parker put on a perfunctory smile for him and stood up.

Jarod handed the photo albums over to her. "Why don't we sit down on the sofa and I can tell you where we were, what we did, and answer any questions you might have," he suggested.

She can only agree and hope that this misery can be over with as quickly as possible. "Sure, Jarod, let's get started."

They sat down on the sofa, both aware of their closeness, and both pretending that another "moment" of theirs wasn't affecting them again.

"Which one should I start with, Jar?" Parker inquired, unaware that she slipped in her old nickname for him.

Jarod was acutely aware of her slip but chose not to call her on it. Instead, he pointed to the middle photo album which was colored green. "This one."

Parker took it out of the stack and placed the other two on an end table. Then she slowly opened the cover.

There they were just as she anticipated. The first picture that she saw was a simple one of Jarod and Rachel standing next to each other and smiling at the camera. "That was taken during my second pretend with Rachel's FBI unit and the first time I met her."

Parker quickly glanced over at Jarod upon hearing the wistfulness in his voice to see him lost in his memories. Another bout of envy went through her. _Rachel was so damn lucky._

Bringing himself back to the present, Jarod smiled apologetically at Parker. "Sorry, it's been a long time since I looked at these pictures."

Parker took his apology in stride. "It's understandable. Don't worry about it."

"Alright," said Jarod, please at Parker's understanding. He didn't realize how hard it was to go through these pictures. Jarod thought it was an easy task to do since it was Parker who was going through them, not him. Ditto for the wedding videos. He wasn't sure how he would have reacted to watching them again. He never watched or looked at the videos and pictures since the day of her memorial service. So far he wasn't on a crying jag which was an improvement, he mused.

They slowly went through all the albums occasionally stopping for Jarod to point out something special about the picture or fulfilling Parker's curiosity about another one.

Pictures of Jarod and Rachel vacationing in the Virgin Islands, family gatherings with her brother and his family, photo opportunities with various senior government officials, the two of them on a rented Harley-Davidson motorcycle during one of their road trips, celebrating the holidays like the Fourth of July and Christmas, and their birthday parties.

It was the birthday party pictures that Parker got another answer to Jarod's mysterious past. Pursing her lips, seeing the grinning Jarod eating one of his favorite dessert, in this instance heavily frosted birthday cakes, she faced him and asked, "When's your birthday?"

A perceptive gleam shone in Jarod's eyes as he answered, "March 20. In most years, it's also the first day of spring." He threw in that factoid just like he did with those late night calls to Parker a lifetime ago.

"Must be a sign," muttered Parker as she put her head back down to the last photo binder that lay in her lap. She didn't want him to see the very small happy smile on her face. Another missing piece of the puzzle to Jarod's life was found. Now, a clearer picture of what his life was like or should be like was forming before her.

Parker almost got away with her smile but if she had taken a look at Jarod just then she would have noticed it was doomed to failure.

Jarod was observing her intently and noticed the tightening of the facial muscles on Parker's face. From his experience, he could tell by the body language that she was smiling.

He hid an amused smile in case Parker suddenly looked up. He didn't want to set off her latent volatile temper again.

_She's changed._ In the past, there were too many times when he felt she really hated him. He never was sure whether the hate was real or mere playacting. The anger was genuine though. All those merciless pranks and practical jokes at her expense were than enough to fuel her rage at him. Jarod made a mental note to apologize to her soon. Maybe this weekend.

He frowned which Parker didn't notice so absorbed she was with the pictures. This weekend was going to explosive. He wasn't sure if an apology would be accepted at that time and in that setting. Maybe later.

She noted that there were only a few more pages left before coming to the end of the binder. As she flipped through them, memorizing each picture, two things that were nagging back at her mind suddenly became apparent.

"I didn't notice until now that when I invited Thomas over for that Christmas dinner with Daddy and the rest of my damn dysfunctional family," a huff, "no one there took pictures of us? Which," giving him a grim look, "was damn unusual since there were always pictures taken whenever these dinners actually happen." Both knew that Mr. Parker rarely get together with his daughter for Christmas.

"What are you implying?" Jarod asked, already knowing what the answer was.

She told Jarod, with a sense of creeping horror, "I think Daddy and the rest already knew that Thomas was about to be killed." Parker wanted to hear and see Jarod assuring her that she was imagining some sick thoughts but when he didn't try to deny her insight, she knew it was real. God, her family was so sick and twisted.

Jarod rubbed his face with both of his hands. He was overwhelmed with weariness. Exhaling loudly before looking at her, he nodded. "You're right. When we went over captured Centre documents, one of them was a Disposal Directive signed by Mr. Parker for getting rid of Thomas."

Fury clouded Parker at this revelation. Betrayal at that monster who she called Daddy and Jarod for not telling her this. Hissing at Jarod, "When were you going to tell me about this Disposal Directive? I have a right to know this!"

Jarod looked unflinchingly at her. Speaking in a level voice he said, "This was the first occasion that Thomas was brought up between us, Parker," ignoring her request to use her first name right now, "I would have told you one way or another tonight."

Her fury was spent by Jarod's declaration but she was still repulsed and ill by the thought that she was a Parker. Seeing Jarod there sitting quietly, she rasped out, "Thomas didn't deserve his fate." Sadness overwhelmed her.

Jarod felt Parker's sadness and shared it. Nodding his head once, "No, he didn't. The only solace is that the Centre is dead and that no more people will suffer at its hands."

Morbidly, Parker corrected him, "No, Jar, you mean no more people will suffer at the hands of the Parkers."

Jarod was silent at this. Taking his silence as a sign of agreement, Parker didn't blame him. Her family was just a collection of murderers, cannibals, and terrorists. Who could blame him for his loathing of her family and the Centre?

A cloud of gloom hung over these two Centre survivors. Both thinking of Thomas, an innocent victim caught up in and eventually killed by the deadly intrigues of an evil organization.

After minutes of this, Parker, in an effort to change the mood, gazed at Jarod and with a slightly confused voice, asked him about her second observation, "Jarod, the pictures are just of you two. What about friends and, um, family?" Something was weird and she wanted to know what was going on.

Jarod paused gathering his thoughts before he responded with a wry expression, "Rachel was a bit of an organizer." He settled back against the sofa as the memories came back again. "These three," waving at the binders, "just show the two of us. There are others that contain the family and friends that you brought up."

She closed the binder and set it on top of the other two. Also settling back into the sofa and after mustering some effort she quipped, "Must be hell for you with the clutter and knick knacks that always seem to hover around you."

Twisting his body to face Parker, in a similar amused tone and silently thanking her for her effort to lighten the atmosphere, "Yeah, it took Rachel a long time to tame this wild beast. But I eventually learned my lesson."

With her body also facing Jarod, she rested her right arm on the top of the sofa back and cupped her chin with her right hand. "And what lesson would that be?" questioning him.

A pause, then, "An organized person is a sick person."

Parker blinked, and then both quietly laughed.

The laughter lasted for a few minutes filling the house with a sound that hasn't been heard from in over three years.

The laughter slowly died and both Jarod and Parker still retain traces of their smiles on their faces. Their bodies relaxed and some of their mutual gloominess slowly dissipated.

Seeing that the time was late, Jarod stood up and put out his right hand. "Come on, Maureen, it's bedtime."

Taking his proffered hand, she stood up. She reluctantly let go of his hand. "Thank you for showing the videos and photos to me, Jarod." Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Parker added, "Also, for telling me about my family's role in Thomas' murder."

He squeezed her left shoulder reassuringly, "You're welcome. I just wish that you're family…"

"I know, Jarod," she responded. "I know."

Closing the lights to his office, the two of them walked in a companionable silence until they stopped in front of her bedroom. Jarod spoke to her just before she stepped inside. "Good night, Maureen. See you in the morning."

Parker replied with a little more warmth than she intended. "Good night to you, too, Jarod." There will be more than just "good nights" exchanged between them in the future, she hoped. But for now, at least, she got a couple more signs of Jarod caring for her.

* * *

Right after breakfast Jarod informed Miss Parker about his plans for them for that day.

"Do you remember the spat yesterday about you being a prisoner here, Miss-Maureen?" Jarod inquired of her.

"How can I forget," she answered. "Yes. What of it?" They were in the living room recovering from the huge feast Jarod put on for breakfast. The amounts of food that they consumed convinced Parker that she can safely skip lunch today.

"Well," Jarod drawled, "I was going to show how to operate the alarm system and give a set of keys to the house but," shrugging his shoulders, "if you're not interested…"

Annoyance flared in her as the old instincts to snap and bark at him for the pranks and word games Jarod inflicted on her. But just as suddenly it went away as she saw clearly what was going on.

It was the old Jarod. Or a good facsimile of that guy. Parker breathed out a sigh of relief. It was an improvement over the sad, unreachable man that she was getting uncomfortably used to. Just how long _her_ Jarod would appear before her was an unknown. But she hoped he would stay around for a little while longer.

"You bet I'm interested, Jarod," she declared. She decided to give Jarod a quick glimpse of the old "Ice Queen" Parker just for old time's sakes.

Jarod just shook his head when he saw Parker was giving one of her patented glares. If he were any other person, he would've been reduced to a quivering blob of jello by now. But he wasn't intimidated by it, to be exact; he was a bit amused because he remembered her telling him that she'd changed.

Any light hearted feelings vanished as he vividly remembered the other night when they had their reunion. He vowed he would never let her in again. But, here he was, teasing her, showing signs of caring for her, and bantering with her like it was ages ago during his fugitive years.

Suddenly upset at Parker's ability to sneak by his defenses, Jarod fought back to what he believed should be his normal self. Aloof, distant, a shell of a man who once lived.

She watched his transformation in silent grief and despair as it unfolded in front of her. Her Jarod suddenly pulling away, the hint of the twinkle that Jarod always displayed in his eyes back when they were both younger gone, and his body quickly stiffening and becoming defensive.

In a voice devoid of the warmth that was on display moments ago, Jarod said, "Follow me." Robotically standing up from his recliner, with Parker trailing silently behind him, he stopped in front of the alarm panel.

In a clipped voice he showed her how to operate the alarm system as well as the wireless fob that he gave her that allowed Parker to turn on and off the alarm from outside and anywhere else in the house without using the panel.

After demonstrating the alarm system, he made Parker go through a hands-on practice to make sure she understood the instructions he gave her.

Satisfied with her understanding of the alarm system, he put out his right hand. "Here. These are the house keys I promise I give you."

During the time that she followed his instructions for the alarm, she kept her responses to the barest minimum. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to comfort him, to tell Jarod it's alright to joke, to laugh, to not be afraid of feeling again.

It took her almost a decade to realize that and half of that time was spent in prison before realizing that she threw away so much precious years, hell, decades, trying to protect herself from people who cared and loved her. Like Jarod was doing right now.

"Which ones go where?" Parker inquired, holding up the keys to him.

Pointing to a silver key, Jarod informed her, "This one goes into the front door, the side door to the garage, and the door leading from the garage into the kitchen." Moving his finger slightly, he pointed to a bronze key, "This opens the sliding patio doors." Finally, tapping the gold color key, "This is for all the doors inside the house."

Keeping her emotions closely reined in, though she wanted to scream at Jarod to let her in, Parker pointed at the close circuit tv. "What about that? Are you going to show me how to operate it?"

"Yes," he replied. Stepping up to the table holding the monitor, Jarod turned his head to look at her. "These buttons, numbered one through fifteen, are for the fifteen cameras placed all around the house." He paused just to make sure Parker was still tracking him. Assured that she was by the intent look of concentration on her face, he went back to his instructions. "This," indicating the small joystick, "moves the camera once you select which one you want to view from and, when you twist the joystick back and forth, the focus will change." Standing up, he turned and asked, "Any questions?"

"No, Jarod, you covered it all," declared Parker. She watched as Jarod bit his lower lip, which she knew since childhood was a sure sign that he was debating something inside his mind. A few moments more than she saw his face relaxed. Jarod arrived at a decision.

"Are you ready for a trip?" addressing her in a aloof tone. Jarod stood motionlessly awaiting her decision.

"Trip to where," Parker warily responded. This was one of those times when she wished she been trained by Sydney to exploit her latent Pretender gifts. She wanted to know what was going inside Jarod's head.

Jarod saw the tightening of her eyes and couldn't blame Parker for her caution. But he kept his stern visage pasted on his face. He nearly let her into his heart and soul. He wasn't about to let that happen again. "To a storage place."

"Why?" demanded Parker.

"That's where your possessions are located. Do you want to go or not?" This was a one time offer as far as he was concerned.

Squaring her shoulders, Parker told him in a firm voice, "Damn right, I'm going."

* * *

They rode in his Lexus for the short drive to the storage place. The day was turning out to be another hot and muggy day when most people would rather stay inside in the comfort of an air conditioner than go out into a natural sauna.

As Parker unabashedly examined Jarod, much to his discomfort, she went over their shared history especially right after she was brought in by Daddy to bring him in after escaping from the Centre.

The late night calls, the clues to her tragic past, the skeletons in the family closet, the weird branches of her family tree, the stupid practical jokes inflicted on her, so on, so forth. Most of all, Jarod's efforts to break through her icy walls.

Parker now understood that their roles were reversed. She was the one who was trying to get past his formidable defenses and he doing his very best to repel her.

If she was going to switch roles with him, she decided she was going to imitate her one and only favorite Pretender. Starting right now.

"Do you think clothes make the man or the man makes the clothes, Jarod," Parker asked while twirling a strand of her brown hair with her left hand. She was dressed in a form hugging sundress with spaghetti shoulder straps, sandals, and, like Jarod, wearing a pair of sunglasses.

Jarod swiveled his head briefly away from the road to silently glare at her before returning his attention to the road. Even with his sunglasses on, Parker knew he knew what she was doing and why. He was dressed differently from what she was familiar with. A white polo shirt, khaki Dockers, and oxford shoes made him look like he was dressed for casual Fridays. A total reverse of the man in black attire he used to wore before bringing down the Centre.

She released a frustrated breath. If she can be called an Ice Queen, it would only be fair turnaround to call Jarod an Ice Dick. Unlike Jarod, however, Parker wasn't going to walk away from him and she wasn't going to ever make the same mistake again of some other woman taking Jarod away from her. Rachel was the only exception. Jarod belonged to her ever since she first laid eyes on him. Just as she belonged to him. It was her life's work now to make him realize that again.

So what if he shut her out, hurt her with his callous words in order to drive her away from him, and pretend, humph, to be a zombie to her in order not to love and feel alive again?

If she can change, no matter how late it was, Jarod can too.

He was not going to deter her. For decades, she suffered at the hands of Daddy and the Centre. Emotionally, physically, and mentally the scars, both visible and invisible, left their mark on her. A lot of those scars were the results, directly and indirectly, of hurting Jarod, inflicting pain on him and his family. To use him and dispose of him once his usefulness were at an end.

So what if the scars now inflicted on her were from Jarod. But she knew that these scars would be worth it and honorable. Nothing to be ashamed of. Unlike the ones her family and the Centre meted out. Because the reward, after, enduring them, would be Jarod letting her love him and him loving her. Just the way it was meant to be.

If other people, especially women, think she was a glutton for punishment or out of her mind for pursuing this battered man, Parker could care less. She saw the results of Jarod's good deeds during the "I run, you chase," years. They were the actions of a compassionate, caring, and decent man. A man who could have lashed out at an uncaring world, wind up like the demented Alex, or turn into a heartless creature who enjoyed hurting people just for the hell of it.

But he didn't. Instead, he still was the man she admired from their Centre days. She almost was able to slip by his barricades. And this was after just after being together with him for almost three days.

Slowly a shit eating grin appeared on her face. One which she bestowed on Jarod. Parker saw him react by momentarily losing control of the car. She ignored the careening because she knew Jarod's reflexes were fast. When he got the car under control, he again glared at her only to see the same grin still fixed on her face.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" he snarled. When he saw Parker with that grin, one he never saw before in his life, his hackles were raised and goose bumps appeared on his skin. For the first time in his life, he was truly afraid of Parker.

"You."

"Wh-why?" Jarod couldn't believe it. He stuttered before Parker's presence! He was losing his cool and he didn't know why.

"All in due time, Jarod," Parker told him with a mysterious air. Taking mercy on him, she let the grin fade away but the mirth still shone in her eyes. Pretending to be Jarod was going to be so much fun. She couldn't wait to make her first 2:00am phone call to him.

She turned away from Jarod and looked out at the passing cityscape. Parker understood that there will be tears, screaming matches, silent treatments, depression, and pain in her future. But the prize, after all the heartache and pain, would be Jarod and her together.

Glancing over at him one more time, Maureen Parker realized that her love for him has never diminished. Rather, it grew by leaps and bounds as she grew and mature day by day, month by month, and year by year.

A few more minutes of driving and they pulled into the storage place's parking lot. After notifying the pimply faced teenager manning the front office that Jarod was going to his storage locker, the couple walked side by side silently.

Jarod was perturbed by the change in Parker. Distractedly he walked by his locker before realizing what had happened. He had to turn around to go back to his original destination. Luckily for him, Parker didn't laugh out loud or made any snide remarks. Serene and confident about what her goal in life is, she enjoyed the silence as well as the affect she was having on the visibly agitated Pretender.

Embarrassed and angered by Parker he stalked up to the locker door and, after inserting his key, rolled up the door.

"Here they are," Jarod bit out.

Parker waited until her eyes adjusted to the murky darkness in front of her. Once she did, she gasped out loud.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm a big fan of Chicago circa Peter Cetera era. That's why the song is in this chapter. This was a lackluster chapter since the holidays, work, and my health were major distractions. I had hope to publish this earlier but it didn't turn out that way. The next chapter will introduce our mysterious caller.

If you're wondering why Jarod and MP are schizo with each other, it's because they're still off balance emotionally and mentally. It'll take some time for them to adjust.

I hope to increase the pace of my writing but right now it's turning out to be a chapter a month. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please R and R. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 14

Parker slowly walked into the storage locker. Arrayed before her were her most prized possessions. Turning rapidly left and right, she saw furniture, her mother's paintings, silverware, and boxes upon boxes that contained, according to the stenciled words written on them, her clothes, Christmas decorations, and sundry other belongings.

She took in several deep breaths of the stale air as she struggled for control. Seeing her belongings there, stepping forward to touch one of the taped up boxes just to make sure that they were real and not a figment of her imagination, left her overcome with relief, happiness, and the lifting of a heavy burden that Parker didn't realize she was carrying around. Looking at them once more, she never expected to see this part of her life ever again.

Parker turned around to see Jarod watching her quietly from just outside the door, understanding the overwhelming emotions that she was going through and giving her the time to recover from them. Stepping out of the gloomy storage unit into the sunlight, Parker strode up to him and took in his stiff emotionless face. "Thank you, Jarod," she managed to choke out, a gamut of emotions racing across her face. Gratitude, shock, and wonder at Jarod's altruism.

_This is another sign. A wonderful one._

Jarod shrugged nonchalantly, brushing off her words of thanks as if it was just something normal, something routine in helping out a friend. "The US Marshals were going to trash your things after your trial but I figured you would want them after you got out."

Underneath the emotionless mask he put on for Parker, Jarod was similarly bombarded with conflicting emotions. The irritation he felt towards her on the ride over and her total attention on him in the car left him reeling and unbalanced. This day was turning into something that he didn't anticipated nor desired.

Now, here she was, invading his personal space again, while he was still trying to figure out her sudden change in demeanor. When Parker, or Maureen, asked that damn stupid question of men and clothes, she really surprised him. He knew even before she finished her question that she was doing exactly what he did to her when Parker was his huntress. That was the only reason he temporarily lost control of his car as well as his cool. If his trainers in the government ever found out about this Jarod would never have hear the end of it. To let someone affect him like that.

But that was Maureen Parker for you. Her wardrobe also didn't help matters at all. The sundress Parker was wearing was causing his hormones to start raging. Something that hasn't happen since Rachel's passing. The dress accentuated every curve Maureen possessed, leaving her shoulders bare to be tan by the brilliant Sun. It just stopped right above her knees letting her legs, one of the most wonderful creations God has ever made, be put on display for every red-blooded heterosexual male.

That dress, the way Parker's hair was styled today, as well as her smiling face, left him literally licking his lips. Good thing Parker didn't turn around when he was doing it. He would have been mortified if she did.

Parker, unaware of where Jarod's thoughts were, responded, "Of course, Jarod." She resisted the urge to wink at him, instinctively knowing that he did something exceptional for her.

As they stood there in the hot muggy afternoon, Jarod recalled the fight with Rachel over his decision to keep Parker's possessions. It was the only serious fight of their all so brief marriage. She was livid when he told her that he planned on saving Parker's belongings. Rachel wouldn't back down even when he told her that most of the belongings were the last physical links to Catherine, Thomas, and to a much happier, innocent time. The arguments and demands had gotten so bad that Rachel threw him out of their bedroom, forcing him to sleep on one of the couches.

He was cognizant of Rachel's insecurities regarding his ties to Parker. After all, she saw his entire life on the DSAs in which too many of them prominently featured Miss Parker for Rachel's comfort. But it was only after days of tenacious reasoning on his part did she finally relented. The closing argument that finally convinced Rachel to let Jarod go ahead and save Parker's things was the words, _I chose you, Rachel. You, not Parker, to spend the rest of my life with._

Just taking in the happiness and joy on Parker's face, Jarod knew that his decision was the right one. His only regret was that he deeply hurt Rachel over it.

"I got an inventory list over there for you, Maureen," Jarod said in a civil tone, nodding his head towards a plastic sheet cover with a spreadsheet inside it hanging by the door.

"You've thought of everything," marveled Parker while walking over to the list. She shouldn't be since he is a pretender. _No, _amended Parker_, Jarod is the Pretender._ Of course, he would have thought of everything, she scolded herself as she took the spreadsheet out of the folder and started perusing it.

Jarod brushed off her compliment with a gruff, "Someone had to do it and that someone was me." He stayed a couple of steps behind Parker while she scanned the spreadsheet. He heard her delighted exclamations, gleeful mutterings, and exultant murmurs as particular items caught her attention.

"All the important things that meant anything to me you saved, Jar," she remarked, swinging around to gaze at him. "How can I ever repay you or thank you for doing this?"

Jarod let out a deep breath, "Don't bother. I didn't do this looking for a payback." It was hard to maintain his façade when her hypnotic eyes beckoned him to loosen up again, to be open with her.

"Then why did you do it? You didn't have to, you know?" she countered evenly.

A momentary pause while Jarod decided on what answer to give her. Finally, he settled on the same answer she gave him while they were on the way over here. "All in due time, Maureen."

The beginnings of a scowl appeared on her face until Parker drove it away with a force of will. _Two can play this game, Jar._ "Alright," she replied sweetly, "I'll wait then."

Walking past Jarod, intentionally brushing their shoulders together, Parker went back over to her possessions. Now that the shock and surprise of seeing her possessions have worn off, practical thoughts began popping in her head. _Where am I going to put them?_ _How long can I afford to have them stored here?_

"Maureen, is there something wrong?" Jarod inquired as he watched the silent woman stared long and hard at her belongings. He was about to ask the question again in a louder voice when she answered over her shoulder.

In a sad voice, Parker told him, "I don't know what I'm going to do now. Where am I going to store these," indicating the boxes and her other accouterments, "and how am I going to pay for it?"

Unbidden another thought came to her that sent a numbing feeling through her body. _When will Jarod tell me to leave his house?_

Jarod oblivious to her numbing pain addressed her concerns, "You can still keep your things here for as long as you like and I'll pay for it."

Putting aside her worry about possibly being ask to leave his home, she replied, "Jarod, I'm not a charity case or one of your red notebooks." She was ashamed that she was so dependent on him like this. Parker vowed that she better get started on her job search so she can be financially independent and not be an object of pity. She especially didn't want Jarod to pity her.

He was about to speak again when his cellphone began ringing. "Russell," he spoke into the phone wondering who would be calling him at this time.

"9:00 am Tuesday, Jarod." It was his shrink, Dr. Tushar. "I cleared the entire day since it's you." He hung up before Jarod can even get a word in.

"Asshole," muttered Jarod to the disconnected cell phone before reholstering it.

"Who was it," Parker asked, her curiosity piqued at Jarod's vulgar response to the caller.

"A pain in the ass," Jarod indirectly answering her, not wishing to discuss Tushar's role in his life.

"I see," she said, not really understanding but wasn't going to push Jarod now. There were a lot of mysteries in Jarod's life that she wanted to solve. This was another one of them. But it can wait for later. She got a more immediate problem to figure out.

Relieved that Parker didn't start prying into this aspect of his life, Jarod got back on track. "You can store your things here," he repeated, "and we'll work out a way to pay me back. Satisfied?"

"Yeah, that'll work for now," she answered.

"With that out of the way, what do you want to bring back?" Jarod inquired. He mentally calculated that his car could safely carry a couple of large boxes or a lot of smaller items or a combination of both.

Parker was left speechless at his surprise offer. With his reversion back to the cold distant figure of the kind that she first encountered at their reunion, she was astounded that Jarod was making this offer. "Are you sure about this, Jar?" doubt very evident in her voice.

"Yes, I'm sure," Jarod replied. He wasn't sure whether he like Parker using her childhood nickname or not. She's been starting to use it ever since she showed up in his life again. It denoted a very comfortable familiarity with him which ceased to exist the day she left for Europe.

"Okay," Parker said, rubbing her hands in anticipation and not bothering to hide her joy, "let's get started."

Over the next hour or so, Parker picked those possessions that had the most emotional meanings to her until, to Jarod's quiet exasperation, she saw something else that caught her attention and was declared more important by her and return the suddenly unimportant items back to the pile to be left for the future.

By the time Parker was done, the car was filled with couple of boxes containing what she really consider the most precious to her. The ballerina music box that she thought was gone, Jarod's novel "The Saddest Little Valentine", the picture of a smiling Thomas and her sitting on the swing, and, probably the most important of all, the silver ring that her mother wore. She was wearing it again on her left forefinger.

The ring, Parker mused to herself. She fought to keep it when she was sent to prison but the US Bureau of Prison staff upon seeing how heavy and valuable it was told her lawyer, Ryan Chang, that she had to entrust it to someone else's safekeeping since it was deemed a weapon and potential contraband behind the walls of her prison.

She rubbed it possessively sitting there in Jarod's car. Ignoring Jarod, her surroundings, and the outside world. For now, it was just her, the ring, and the memories of Catherine Jamieson Parker.

Memories of laughter, joy filled days, and serene nights. Catherine reading those wonderful fairy tales to her before falling asleep, the heartfelt kisses and hugs from her mother. All gone now.

Jarod saw her features changed from an inward focus to profound sadness. Glancing down to where Parker was massaging Catherine's ring, he knew the source of her sadness. He was tempted to reach out and clasp her hand, to tell her she wasn't alone, that things will change for the better, that he would banish her pain if he had the power. But he didn't. Instead, he concentrated on the drive back to his home and leaving both of them in a gloomy silence.

* * *

After unloading Parker's things from the car, Jarod and Parker carried them into her bedroom. Knowing her desire to be alone just then, accompanied only by her memories, Jarod wordlessly left her room and closed the door behind him.

Once she heard the door clicked shut, Parker began pulling out the items from the several boxes. The clothes she hung in the closet, her shoes sorted on the floor of the same closet, and, lastly, the pictures and keepsakes.

The ballerina music box she placed on top of the dresser. For sentimental reasons, she wound up the music box and let it play. The soft melody quickly filled in the silence of the room and the little ballerina girl did her pirouette in time to the music. A small sweet smile appeared on Parker's lips as she heard the tinkling music for the first time in almost six years.

Her mellow mood was sustained as she placed her one of her favorite pictures on the nightstand next to her bed. It was the one that showed Catherine and her as a little girl smiling into the camera.

She drew her finger along Catherine's face. That smile her mother bestowed on her always left her feeling safe, happy, and secure. _I miss you so much, Momma._

Next, Parker put the other picture of her and Momma on top of the five drawer chest. Taken just shortly after her birth, it showed Momma proudly holding her newborn daughter. The love and tenderness shown by Catherine was captured perfectly. _More than anyone can understand._

_The music continued to pour forth for its owner, while the ballerina, continuing her everlasting pirouette, patiently waited for its owner to admire its performance..._

Pulling out of a box Parker held up the picture of her on the swing smiling up at Thomas and his boyish grin, Parker fondly recalled those precious few months that she had with him. Her mellow mood faded away. Loving him wasn't a mistake, but for Thomas to love a Parker, it killed him.

Shaking her head to get out of that morbid train of thought, Parker held the picture against her chest briefly as though trying to absorb Thomas' good-naturedness and decency into her body and soul.

After letting out her pent up breath, she placed the picture of them next to the stain glass portrait of her.

The stain glass portrait with the missing heart sat on the table by the window. Staring down, she noticed that the sun, as it streamed through the portrait, left behind a kaleidoscope of colors on the table top. Running her fingers over the uneven glass surface, Parker reflected that Jar made it for her soon after Thomas was buried. A message from him to find her heart. A heart that she thought had crumbled to dust upon finding Thomas' corpse.

When Tommy died, she near drown in her misery and grief and despair. There was no heart to find. It was only the lifelines thrown to her by Jarod, Sydney, Broots, and Debbie who saved her. Otherwise…

_The performance was ignored. The music fallen on deaf ears and the ballerina's audience of one was too distracted to watch it…_

Finally, the last picture to be pulled out of the box. It was the one capturing her and Daddy standing together, though not very close. Looking at it again, they acted more like a couple of strangers asked to pose for the photographer rather than a father and daughter. Daddy wasn't even trying to smile, Parker always painfully observed.

This one was taken on the day she came back home for good after boarding school, Oxford, and her post college graduation debauchery.

Back to the Centre, back to an empty home, back to a father whom she desperately tried to please and sought approval, and, finally, back to Jarod, best friend twisted into an enemy because of Daddy's lies and deceits.

_The music came to a stop and the ballerina froze, forever poised for the next spin…_

* * *

Finished unpacking, Parker joined Jarod in the kitchen for a late lunch since they stayed at the storage place right through their normal lunch time.

They were again watchful and wary about what they say to one another. But Parker wanted to probe Jarod's defenses to find another way into his heart. Looking at Jarod who was also studying her, Parker realized with a jolt that if she was going to pretend to be the Pretender she needed to do what Jarod had always done for her in the past. The evidence was already scattered about in her bedroom.

She needed to get a gift for him. Something to remind him of his past and their connection.

What kind of gift do you buy for a Pretender? she wondered. Something quirky? Something dramatic? Something that screamed "connection"?

Parker jerked upright in her chair. She knew the perfect gift for this occasion. Pushing back the chair, she looked at Jarod who also stood up, confused by her actions. Before he could say anything, she told him, "I have to go out. I'll be back as soon as I can."

After going to bedroom to retrieve her purse, Parker left the house and got into her Porsche which was parked in the driveway. Jarod watched her interestedly out of one of the windows in his office at the suddenly purpose driven Parker. "What are you up to, Parker?" speaking softly to himself as he saw her drove away.

Turning away from the window, Jarod picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. After the phone on the other end rang a couple of times, his caller answered, "Jarod."

"Are you pack and ready?" Jarod asked. It was a formality since he well knew that the other person was raring to go.

"Yes, I am. Same time?" the person eagerly asked.

"Same time," Jarod affirmed, his right eye twinkling in fondness at the eagerness of the person to get the show on the road. Usually 7:00pm was their usual pickup time.

"Alright, I'll see you then." Pausing before going on, he questioned Jarod. "Will Miss Parker be there?" Curiosity and excitement were evident in the voice.

"Yes, I'll make sure she's here when you show up," Jarod replied gently. He understood the feelings his caller was going through and smiled gently. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Until then, Jarod." The caller hung up. Jarod listened to the dial tone for a few moments as he fell into his own memories of his shared past with his caller. Sighing, he placed the handset back onto the cradle of the telephone.

As there was nothing else that needed his immediate attention, Jarod walked back towards the window and stood there patiently waited for Parker to return, accompanied only by his memories and a past that continued to haunt and torture him.

* * *

It took her a while to find the store but once Parker found it, at the local mall, she knew that it carried what she needed. The gift she had in mind was cheap but it was the thought that mattered. Just like Jarod did when he left all those gifts for her that were in fact clues to her family's past as well as containing hidden messages from him.

Looking at the card she just bought him from the cards and gifts store left her excited since this was her first gift ever for Jarod. Parker recalled that as a girl that she was strictly forbidden by Sydney, Raines, Daddy, and assorted others to give gifts to Jarod reasoning to an impressionable girl that they would hurt him and ruin the experiments that they needed Jarod to conduct for them. Back then, she believed them. Now, she knew better. Another Centre lie. Another betrayal by people that she wanted to trust and believe in.

Thinking back again to her childhood, she knew that the only gift she ever gave Jar was his first kiss. In fact, that was also her first kiss, too. Parker smiled fondly to herself. She was glad that she defied all the adults stern admonishments and given Jar that kiss. She never regretted that gift. Both for him and for her.

Sitting in her Porsche, she opened the card and perused the words one more time, Parker nodded, "This is perfect." After inscribing her own words to add to the card's she closed it and carefully put it back into the paper bag. Done with that task, she started up her car and left the mall.

Now, she thought nervously, if only Jarod would accept it when she gave it to him.

* * *

Jarod noticed her car immediately as it drove down the quiet, tree lined street towards his home.

His curiosity, insatiable as ever, demanded that he greet Maureen in the driveway and find out what she was doing. He contemplated begging, wheedling, pleading, or whining to find out why she left his house so abruptly without any explanation given. But Jarod rejected all those options. They would let Parker know in a heartbeat that he cared about her, worried about her, and fretted about her safety.

He learned the bitterest lesson of all from Rachel's death. _Love hurts._ Something he vowed that would never, ever happen again to him. To give Parker the power to slither, worm, and slime her way past his defenses would leave him vulnerable and weak. Jarod knew he wouldn't survive another love found and lost. He wasn't only protecting himself, but Parker also. No matter how hard he is now, he didn't want her to be hurt again, not after surviving and enduring a pain filled life like hers.

But he kept his emotions under control and took slow meditative breaths learned under Sydney's tutelage to cope with the most excruciating simulations. _Patience, Jarod, _he thought to himself. _Parker will tell what she was up to._ After all, it took patience for him to study the layout of the Centre and to prepare his escape from it. Years in the making as well as years before he finally brought down that evil.

He frowned at that last part. Patience has its value and place but it didn't apply all the time. Not like when the Centre stayed in business longer than it should have. Because of his patience over ten thousand people died in Chicago. And left him and others like him crippled and scarred. A lesson seared into his soul.

This instance, though, it did apply. He watched impassively as Parker drove up into the driveway, shut off the engine, and got out.

Ever the observer Jarod noticed that she was clutching a small paper bag in her left hand. It was the only difference he saw. Without worrying about Parker catching him watching her he once again took in her appearance.

Jarod felt that warm feeling surging outward from his center to the rest of his body. The late afternoon sun was highlighting her extremely curvy figure. The way the light played off her brunette hair and the flawless skin that demanded to be tanned. Her steel grey blue eyes that flawlessly expressed every emotion that Parker wanted shown to the world.

Pressing his right hand to the window pane, Jarod wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, and to feel her. But he couldn't and wouldn't. Not just because of Rachel but because of his own feelings.

That roller coaster almost got him this week. Jarod stunned himself at how easy, how very easily tempting it was to just drop all of his barriers for Maureen NMI Parker. Seventy five hours, thirty nine minutes, and thirty seven seconds to be exact. That was how long it took for that captivating and infuriating woman to slide right past his barriers. Before he realized what she was doing and threw her out.

Parker almost succeeded. She didn't know how close she came. Jarod sighed exasperatedly. He recalled how it took months before he allowed Rachel to enter his heart and capture his soul.

It should have been hard and difficult for Parker to break down his walls not soft and easy as it almost did.

Voicing out loud his dismay, Jarod spoke to Rachel's memory, "Did I lie to you and to me about my cutting all of my connections to Parker, Rachel? Did I," he closed his right eye in dismay and pain, "betray you by pretending that I didn't give a damn about Parker?" A tear slid down his right cheek, "Did I fail you, love?"

No reply from Rachel. He didn't expect one though he wished for it. Opening his eye, he saw Parker was about to open the front door. Expelling a large pent up breath, he left his office/library to greet her. Maybe she can explain what she was up to without. If not, he'll patiently wait until she did.

* * *

Parker closed the front door behind her and was putting her keys back into her purse when a taciturn Jarod appeared before her. She wasn't going to be deterred nor be intimidated by his gruffness. She smiled at him. "Jarod, I was going to get you but I'm glad you came instead."

"So I'm here, Parker," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "What are you up to?"

"Something to remember us by, Jar." She was resolved to use his nickname a lot more as a blatant reminder of their childhood friendship. Parker wasn't going to let him repeat her awful mistake of pretending that bond never existed. Holding out her left hand which held the brown paper bag, she smiled brightly at him and said, "This is for you."

Jarod guardedly took it from her. Giving her a suspicious look, he carefully opened the bag, as though it was an IED ready to explode in his face, but he quirked his right eyebrow at her when he saw the card inside.

Pulling it out, Jarod saw that it was a friendship card. He opened the card and slowly read the words inside. Again. And then again.

He felt his throat constrict and saw that the words were starting to blur. Jarod swallowed, or tried to. His right hand which held her card began to shake slightly. Then he heard Parker from far away even though she was only a few feet from him. He fought to hear what she was saying. Then he heard what she said and it shook him some more.

"This is my first gift to you, Jar. Second, if you count our kiss," her cheeks dimpling at that sacred childhood memory.

Parker saw how the card as well as what she said affected Jarod but didn't comment on it. She wanted him to know how she felt about their relationship with the card. No matter what the Centre, her lapses in judgment, his marriage, the scrolls among the sundry list of obstacles and challenges have done to them, Jarod and her will always have their friendship as their foundation.

At least she hoped that Jarod shared those same sentiments as her.

Seeing the card stirred up a lot of vivid memories for Jarod ranging from Sydney's heartless rejection of his Father's Day card to the day he first saw and tasted snow. Here in his hand was what he yearned for in that dank and dark cell of his. Acknowledgement that he was a human being rather than a science project, affection from someone he considered his best friend at one time, and a future that he can barely comprehend so deprived was he of positive role models in the Centre.

Parker's gesture made him do something that she didn't foresee. Giving her a curt, "Excuse me," he spun on his heels and hurriedly strode off. Parker stood rooted where she was, stunned, until she stirred herself into motion as she saw his back receding away from her. "Jarod, wait," she began, hurrying to catch up to him.

She was furiously thinking what she did wrong while keeping him in her sight. Parker thought he was heading towards his office but guessed wrong as Jarod abruptly veered instead to his bedroom. "Jarod," she repeated, getting worried by the minute that she did the wrong thing by giving him the card. The door closed and she heard the click of the lock being turned just as she came to it.

Licking her suddenly dry lips and taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. "Jarod, are you alright?" Silence. "Jarod, please answer me. You're starting to worry me." No response. Her anxiety rose. "Jar?"

Jarod sat down in an armchair in the master retreat ignoring the persistent knocking on the door and Parker's increasingly anxious voice.

So, he thought, she was playing his old game. Tapping the card absentmindedly against his mouth, Jarod recalled how annoyed, enraged, hurt, and sad his game had on Parker. His scarred face creased in apprehension as he remembered one of the reasons why he played that game with her in the first place.

He wanted his best friend back.

Reminiscing, he didn't care or thought enough of the pain he caused her at times. All in his selfish desire to save her, to resurrect that girl he put up on a pedestal, and to have her admit that she love him just as much as he love her.

There. He admitted it. He loved her. Past tense. That's right, he persuaded himself. She belonged to his past as he looked up at the picture of Rachel and him above the fireplace mantle. That was his reality, right there with Rachel, not the damn fantasy of his youth.

Shaking his head, Jarod slowly stood up. Parker and he played the game for over five years. He knew he couldn't have made it past that first year of freedom without going crazy if he didn't play their game with her. Now, the game was afoot again.

With their roles reversed.

The question was would he play the game or not.

The knocking turned to pounding as Parker started yelling through the door. "Jarod, so help me, if you don't say something right now, I'm going to break down this door!"

A trace of a smile crossed Jarod's lips as this was the old Miss Parker speaking to him. Nay, demanded of him. After placing the suddenly priceless card in a dresser drawer that contained his other valuables, Jarod walked over to the locked door.

Before he opened the door, he gave a mental shrug. He decided he'll play the game. It would be amusing and interesting to see and feel what it's like to be on the other side. His existence provided a lot of challenges but nothing compared to the game of life that he would be playing with another Red File.

Parker meant it when she said she was going to break the door down if he didn't speak to her. She vividly remembered what Ms. Donovan told her about Jarod falling apart upon finding out about Rachel's death. She was terrified that a simple gesture of friendship could cause him to do something incredibly stupid.

She was about to pound on the door again when it opened. There stood Jarod looking at her with an unreadable expression. Then he spoke. "The man makes the clothes, Miss Parker."

He stepped forward forcing Parker to back up a couple of steps. He closed the master bedroom door behind him.

"What did you say, Jarod?" Parker said, giving him a shaky stare. She couldn't believe the immense relief she felt upon seeing him.

"Your question, Maureen. The one you asked in the car on the way to the storage place. You do remember, don't you?" He gave her a bemused look as though she was developing Alzheimer's Disease or something similar.

"Of course, I remember," she retorted. Her relief was quickly turning to annoyance.

"Are you constipated, Maureen? You have this pinched look to you. Something I recall in my medical pretends." Jarod's indulgent look told her that this was a very unforgiving game she was playing.

Parker saw the challenge in his eyes and didn't like the taunting his tone was conveying.

"I think I would know what my body is going through without you diagnosing me what my problem is" _jerk_ was what she wanted to add but decided to hold off.

_Let's see how long you can play this game, Parker. I quit after five futile years trying to reach you. You think you can last that long?_ A smarmy smile appeared on his lips as he declined to reply.

If Parker had read his mind right then, her answer would have been yes. However long it took to enter his heart, she would do it. No doubts and no hesitations. But her competitive streak was awakened from its prison induced slumber as Parker saw that ingratiating smile of Jarod's.

A challenge was given and accepted by both of them. Neither wanted to lose to the other but knowing that one of them had to give in. And the eventual winner would be the one who wanted it more than the other. If that was case, than Parker would win it hands down.

But neither knew it at that time yet. So they settled uncomfortably into their reversed roles, trying to get a feel for their changed situations.

"Well, Jar, you going to say something?" Parker folded her arms across her chest, waiting impatiently for him to speak to her.

"How's your ulcer? Has it been cured?" Jarod inquired. He was concerned, though he wasn't going to show it, because he knew Parker was hospitalized several times for it, almost dying on a couple of those occasions.

Maureen wasn't expecting that question but she quietly chalked it up as another sign that he cared about her but she wouldn't let him know that she was tracking every gesture and word he did to show that he cared about her. "I completed my antibiotic treatment in the second year that I was in prison."

Not realizing he was holding a pent up breath, Jarod exhaled with relief. "I'm glad to hear that, Maureen." He was. "One less thing to worry about."

"Gee, I'm so glad that I put you at ease," sarcasm lacing her words as she glared at him.

Shrugging his shoulders and ignoring her barbed tongue, Jarod informed her, "I'll be out for a couple of hours." Brushing past her, he headed out the front door and into his car. She followed him. She was damn if Jarod was going to get the last word in.

"Where are you going?" she questioned him, curiosity replacing their same old annoying game that they just went through.

Right before he pulled out of the driveway, he smiled lopsidedly at her, "Back in time, Maureen."

His answer only deepened the mystery for her. Whatever he was up to, Parker knew she was going to be involved up to her neck. And, he did have the last word in. _The bastard._

* * *

The drive to the outskirts of Carlisle, PA took slightly over two hours. Jarod was lucky that he managed to avoid the worst of the evening rush hour. The long drive gave him time to unwind from his latest encounter with Parker and to reflect on how his life has changed so dramatically this week.

He was almost looking forward to his next mission once his month long stand down was over.

But until then, he knew that his days ahead will be just like this week. Parker was a force of nature and highly disruptive. Jarod knew what she wanted but his heart shied away from that knowledge. Friendship was one thing, but lo-…. Just thinking of that word made him scared and shudder all over.

Seeing the highway sign welcoming him to the city, he activated his Bluetooth headset and called his expectant passenger. He was grateful for a distraction from the Parker situation.

"Jarod." The voice had no doubt who was calling.

"I'm almost there," he informed his caller, and emphasized that by increasing the speed.

"I'll be waiting," he answered in a hesitant and slow voice.

"Good, see you then." Jarod smiled as he turned off the Bluetooth headset and leaned his head back against the headrest. For the next several days, he'll have the pleasure of being with someone he had no doubts about.

Fifteen minutes later, he drove into the endowment's parking lot. Slowly he cruised through the lot towards the passenger loading zone, careful to avoid hitting any persons. Then, he saw the person he was picking up.

The figure waved towards Jarod upon seeing him and the by now familiar car. As Jarod pulled up, the figure opened the front passenger door and tossed two backpacks into the back of the convertible.

"Ready?" asked Jarod as his passenger buckled his seat belt and adjusted his bucket seat.

Nodding and giving a grunt of assent, he settled into his seat. "I am now."

"Let's go and surprise Miss Parker, Tim," Jarod said, smiling as he drove out of the parking lot. "We have a lot to catch up on."

Timothy a.k.a. Angelo smiled eagerly as looked forward to meeting his other best friend and "sister". "Yes, Jarod, we sure do."

* * *

**A/N:** This is my second chapter posted in one month. Yay! Don't expect that to happen in the future. LOL. RL is starting to bite down, so I'll probably be back to one chapter a month. To my reviewers, a heartfelt thank you, for your constructive criticism and encouragement. A special thank you to for finding similar words that I needed for this chapter. My next chapter I will take my time. I hope that I can live up to my own expectations for this reunion of the three Red Files. Don't be surprised if you don't see me posting a chapter in February. As always, please read and review. 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 15

The car was filled with their banter. Chuckles, broad smiles, and a light atmosphere encapsulated the two men inside the car. The warm, summer wind was blowing through their hair; Cracker Jack, Pez, and ice cream were eaten; and the lights of the emerging stars were beginning to shine down on these two friends and former prisoners of the Centre. Junk food, laughter, and friendship went hand in hand as the minutes flew by. But as they approach ever closer to Jarod's home and to Miss Parker, the mood turned more solemn and sober.

Tim, as Jarod preferred to call Timothy, was the first to break the pensive silence. "Jarod, are you still sure you want to go through with it?" Tim was deeply worried about Jarod's intentions for this weekend. There were no secrets between them. Not after all the abuse and pain inflicted upon them by the Centre's cruel minions. It also was impossible with the empathic gift that Tim was blessed or cursed with, depending on one's opinion.

Jarod groaned inwardly, annoyed at Tim's persistent concern for his "sister". Glancing long and hard at the worried face of Tim, his annoyance started to dissipate. He needed to reassure his "little brother". Turning back to look out at the interstate, Jarod noticed a highway sign announcing a rest stop a couple of miles ahead. Moving over to the slow lane, Jarod told Tim, "Let's take a break here, Tim, and we'll go over the plan again."

"Okay, Jarod," he said in his inimitable raspy voice, nodding his head. Timmy was pleased that he got one last chance to change Jarod's mind. He didn't want his two best and closest friends to tear each other apart again like they did those many years ago. They were his family. The only loved ones he had left in this harsh and unforgiving world.

Watching their sweet and caring relationship be debased and perverted left him in a state of despair and misery. Helpless to voice what was in his heart and mind due to Raines' barbaric experiments to prevent this unfolding disaster from happening. To tell Jarod and Miss Parker what he learned from his empathic gift and observed from being with them for all those years.

_They were in love with each other. _

Oh, he tried telling them both, Tim thinking back angrily. But the damage to his brain left him struggling futilely to express what he knew. The constant struggle to form words that were more than two syllables, to break through his "sister's" icy emotional walls, and to overcome his "brother's" self-pity so that both Jarod and Parker could avoid inflicting further unnecessary pain on each other left Tim raging silently at his perceived failure.

If he had only known that even if he were completely healthy, there was nothing he could have done since plans were already set in motion by the Centre and the Triumvirate to prevent the joining of his best friends as a couple.

But he didn't know. So Timmy tried and failed. He failed so many times he lost count.

It was a testament of his devotion to Jarod and Maureen that he kept trying over the years though, which eventually turned to decades, reminding these two of their ties to each other. In spite of her putdowns and his self-righteousness, Tim never gave up. Not even after Mr. Parker's machinations, the discovery of the scrolls, and the fall….

Pulling the car into the rest stop, Jarod selected a secluded corner of the rest stop parking lot for them to park. Getting out of the car, he carefully scanned the area to look for anyone lurking about or anything suspicious. Satisfied that all was fine, he signaled Tim that it was safe for him to leave the Lexus.

Tim saw the all clear signal from Jarod and got out. He stretched his stiffened muscles by moving back and forth a few times along the length of the car as well as trying to get some blood circulating for his numbed butt.

He felt Jarod's protective gaze fall on him. Facing him across the hood of the car, Tim spoke with some irritation. "I don't need a babysitter, Jarod. So relax." Jarod's concern was touching but at times can be irksome. Like now.

Jarod saw the flash in Tim's bright blue eyes. He sighed loudly. It was something they've gone over many times ever since both of them agreed upon that Tim should stay at the Endowment after the Centre was brought down.

"You may not need one now, but you never know, little brother," Jarod said, using his affectionate nickname for Timothy. Darkly, he added, "Our parents never expected to have their sons kidnapped from them in the middle of the night."

Moving to the front of his car, he proceeded to sit on the hood. He could feel the heat radiating from the hood. Timothy copied Jarod and also sat down on the hood. A comforting aura settled over them as both quietly enjoyed each other's quiet presence.

A quiet broken by Timmy's raspy voice, a byproduct of another of Raines's heinous experiments. "No one wants me anymore, Jarod," he pointed out. From one viewpoint, Timothy's declaration was heartrending. The diametrically opposite was liberating. No more looking over his shoulder at real shadows ready to steal him away and force him to do things against his will.

Jarod nodded once without looking at Timothy. He stared out into the sunset. The sky was steadily turning from a glorious flaming red to a starry night. Going with it would be the stifling humidity that was a typical East Coast weather. "I know but I can't help worry over you. Rachel's gone," he waited as the never healed pain washed over him yet again before continuing, "and I'm not here full time to keep an eye out on you."

Timothy reached out and gently squeezed Jarod's left arm reassuringly. "I've been living by myself for the last few years. You and Rachel helped me." He gave Jarod an encouraging grin. "I'm alright," using his traditional answer.

Seeing Tim's confident smile and his customary answer, Jarod couldn't help but return it. He let the gloominess and worries flow through him. No need to look for unnecessary worries. "Yeah, you are."

Timothy relaxed a fraction. He didn't need his empathic skills right now to know that the pain of Rachel's death was hurting Jarod again.

Being introduced to Rachel for the first time after the Centre was captured, Timothy felt threatened. Not for him. But for his "sister". He was familiar with only three females and they had generous, loving, and loving spirits. Catherine, Faith, and Miss Parker. The other females infesting the Centre were vicious, vindictive, and malevolent. Being present around them for even only a moment left him feeling dirty and corrupted.

Timothy always expected, like Sydney and Catherine, that Jarod and Miss Parker would eventually be together. It was like the Sun rising in the east, death and taxes being the only certainties in life, and politicians lying. It was fact. It was fate. It was inevitable.

Only when Rachel held out her right hand and gave him that warm, caring smile of hers, did the first shred of doubt entered Timothy's universe. When he hesitantly reached out and shook her hand, he was braced for more empathic abuse by another run of the mill Centre bitch.

But to his astonishment and shock, that didn't happen. Timothy looked at her with his jaw hanging loose. Then he looked over at Jarod displaying to the Pretender his undisguised feelings. What he felt was something he thought was confined to only a dead girl, a sainted woman, and one of his best friends. Now, there was another woman, totally different from his "sister" yet having that same light emanating from her soul. It left him totally confused, afraid, and worried.

It wasn't just the unexpected gentility and goodness coming from Rachel but feeling Jarod's eagerness to have Timothy's approval for his deepening relationship with the profiler. What would happen to Miss Parker and Jarod? To their inevitable togetherness?

The confusion, the disruption to his worldview, and this strange kind woman left Timothy in a state of panic. So he did what he always did when something like this happened. He crawled back into the Centre's ventilation system. Or tried to. The CS gas, the pepper spray, and puke gas, coupled with the smoke coming from sections of the Centre furiously burning away, took away his sanctuary. He had nowhere to run and hide.

Eventually, Timothy felt Jarod's forceful grip on his calves as he was pulled back out of the ventilation system and being tranquilized by his apologetic "brother". He awoke to a hospital room where Jarod and Rachel waited on him.

After Jarod told him about Parker's arrest, the eventual outcome at her upcoming trial, and his going to the Endowment immediately, Angelo, Raines' creation, took over for the first and last time. He attacked Jarod. He held nothing back. Jarod betrayed his "sister" as well as his "brother". The pain of that betrayal cut soul deep.

Jarod easily fended off Angelo's clumsy and ungainly attacks. The physical wounds were minor but the emotional and mental wounds ran deeper and healed much slower. Jarod and Timothy were both crying and yelling over and at each other. Hurling threats, ignoring each other's explanations, and wildly accusing each other in coherent and incoherent words and nonverbal grunts and gestures.

Rachel tried to break up their fight but both ignored her. When brother fought brother, the anger ran deeper, the blood flowed longer, and the wounds festered. It was only when hospital security showed up did their fight ended.

Their friendship and alliance temporarily breached, both Jarod and Timothy went to lick their wounds. Jarod consumed by guilt again over, not only over Parker's fate, but Timmy's sense of betrayal. Timmy gave Jarod the silent treatment for months following Parker's conviction. He couldn't believe that Jarod would let Parker be sent to prison but he did.

The absolute trust and confidence Timothy placed in Jarod was badly shaken. Both Red Files wondered if they can ever repair their broken relationship.

Tellingly, it was Rachel who undertook the herculean task of mending their friendship. Between her demanding job and caring for Jarod, she got these two brilliant, eccentric, and stubborn men to be together in the same room at a time in their lives when they didn't want to have anything to do with the other.

Timothy vividly remembered seeing her dragging a reluctant Jarod by the hand to visit him at the Endowment. He also couldn't forget how this determined redhead actually shoved him out of his room to meet Jarod. Thanks to her resolve, the two of them reconciled and their friendship renewed.

He smiled in fond remembrance as, on each and every visit to his residence, Rachel always gave him a welcoming hug. Smiling, she asked how he was and he shyly replied that everything was alright. Right after this little ritual of theirs, Rachel would reliably hand over a box of Cracker Jack, already open, for him.

Timothy's resistance to Rachel was futile after these friendly gestures. She won him over and he didn't resent the fact that she was going to be a permanent fixture in both Jarod's life and his. Matter of fact, he was the first person that Jarod and Rachel approached after they got engaged. Both of them, but Jarod especially, hoping for his blessing to their planned nuptials.

He gave it to them with quiet enthusiasm. Timothy wasn't going to deny Jarod any happiness he could find after the horrific life he was forced to live. But in the quiet darkness of his room, after the happy couple left, he cried for the lost opportunity. No Jarod and Miss Parker getting married, coming to him for his blessing. His two best friends missing their chance to be together forever.

For a brief moment looking back, Timothy lived contentedly. Between his place at the Endowment and his visits to the Russell's, life was good.

Until Rachel was killed.

The pain of her loss cut deeply. Not as cruel or horrific as what Jarod went through. But it was terrible enough for an empath.

Not only did he have to feel his own loss, but he had to endure feeling Jarod's neverending grief as well as the pain coming from Rachel's friends and family. Her death affected so many of those that she touched in her brief but brilliant life. When she died, she left behind a legion of admirers and people who loved her.

Timothy counted himself as one of them. He loved her. Not in a romantic way or in a sisterly way. He loved her as a friend. Timothy count it a blessing that he was able to tell Rachel he gave her a unique title. A privileged title that he hardly dared bestowed upon any human being given the way he was raised in the sublevels of the Centre.

He called her his friend.

Like Jarod, he cried for her, wondered if he could have done anything that might have prevented her death, and deeply missed her.

Thinking that this wasn't a good time to go down memory lane, Timothy glanced over at Jarod and to the plan and his reluctant participation in it. "I wish you would reconsider, Jarod. It's not too late to call it off."

Jarod got up off the hood of his car and took a couple of paces before turning on his heel of his right feet and looked at the guarded face of Tim. "No, I won't. We won't," corrected Jarod. He interjected a tone of reasonableness into his voice. "She has to answer for what she put you through."

Tim rose to Parker's defense. "I forgive her, Jarod. You should, too." The confrontation part of Jarod's plan was the only thing about it that really bothered him. The rest he went along because the timing was right. "Let it go, Jarod," Tim urged.

Jarod angrily shook his head. A corner of his mind marveled at how easily the anger appeared to him. "You may, Tim. But I can't." He decided to concede one thing to ease Tim's concerns. He gave a weary sigh, "At least not until she apologizes to you."

Moving up to where Tim who was still sitting silently on top of the hood, Jarod looked him in the eye, as he said to his friend, "Miss Parker should never have said those cruel names to you, Tim. Not after all that we've done together and been put through growing up." Reaching out to grab the uncomfortable Red File's shoulders, Jarod continued, "She has to face the consequences of her actions." Letting go of Tim he asked, "Do you remember what happened to the cure that I'd created for you?"

Timmy slowly nodded. "Yes, Jarod, I do." How could he not remember? What Raines did to him, he was going to do to another innocent boy. Looking up at his friend, he added, "But how was she supposed to know that you were creating a cure for me? You were keeping it a secret from her." It was a justified accusation and by the look in Jarod's eye, Tim hit him where it hurt. "It was an accident that she knocked the cure to the floor."

Jarod felt his hands clenching into fists and his jaw grinding together. Tim knew where his soft spots were. His preaching about trust and secrets were being thrown back at him right now. He wanted to tell Parker about his cure for Tim, but it was the girl he had no problem telling. The adult Parker, he wasn't sure about as far as trusting and being open with her.

"Yes," he bit out, "but she didn't have to barge in like she owned the whole damn place. Step on anyone and anything that stood in her way." Pausing only to relax his tense body, he bitterly added, "All must bow to 'she who must be obey'. After all, she's a Parker. And Parkers always get what they want."

Tim was getting angry at Jarod's misplaced temper. "She's not a Parker, Jarod. Both of us know that. Stop trying to make her into something that she isn't."

Jarod barked out a derisive laughter. "Don't worry about me making that mistake again. I made it a long time ago. I won't repeat it."

Tim frowned at that comment. He knew what exactly Jarod meant. The little girl that the Pretender wanted back never did up to the time of Sears Tower. The bitterness and rage were still there. Tim understood that the only person that Jarod ever hated was Mr. Parker. Not even Lyle, who murdered Kyle Russell, enjoyed that distinction.

The man who ordered the sweepers to kidnap them, gave the green light to Raines to execute Catherine, deceived his first love her entire life, and inflicted death and destruction on people around the globe all for his lust for power and greed.

Now, he and Jarod, as part of their plan, were to reveal all of Mr. Parker's secrets to their friend and be there to pick up the pieces. That's what friends are for. But now, Jarod seem to have temporarily forgotten that.

Standing up from the hood, Tim caught Jarod's attention. "Don't let your anger blind you to the rest of the plan." He stood nose to nose with Jarod. "We have to be there for Miss Parker once we tell her everything."

Jarod didn't want to listen to the other man. He wanted to revel in his raw, primal hate against Gregory Jonathan Parker a.k.a. Daddy. That man, if you can him that, left a trail of bodies, ruined survivors, and terror in his wake. Beneath that facade of a bon vivant businessman beat the heart of a monster who took no for an answer, was determined to get what he wanted, and willing to destroy anyone who got in his way.

Catherine, Jacob, Thomas, and his family were just some of his numerous victims. Maureen was another one. Jarod shuddered at how far he got in molding her into his image.

The hate ebbed away when she entered his thoughts again. Ever since she came back into his life a few days ago, she was always in his mind. "You're right," seeing Tim's intense blue eyes boring into his. "You're invading my space, little brother," he added.

"I know," Tim retorted. "I'll do it again for her, and for you, if you stray off the reservation." He stepped back and observed Jarod. From his empathy, Tim knew Jarod's hatred of Mr. Parker was cooling rapidly.

Jarod nodded slowly. He accepted Tim's rebuke for what it was. Get his shit together and drive on. In a businesslike tone, he told Tim, "The plan begins with me confronting Parker about you." Seeing Tim's reluctant assent, Jarod continued. "Secondly, we tell her about Faith." The pain was still fresh even as time goes by.

Tim's pain over Faith's death was more focus and cut deeper than either Jarod or Miss Parker realized. Hearing her name and the cruel knowledge of her ultimate fate left him blinking his eyes from the moisture building up there. He brought his attention back to Jarod.

"Third, baby Parker's whereabouts and his true parentage." Both men knew baby Parker was loved and being raised in a happy home. "Last, but not least, Miss Parker will know who her real father was and the man that Catherine died loving."

The grim, sad, and mournful atmosphere encapsulated them until Tim broke the silence. "Do you," he stopped, swallowing his parched throat, before he continued. "Do you think this is too much, too fast, Jarod, for Miss Parker?" He wanted to be sure that Jarod wasn't going to do any last minute changes. His unique gift, courtesy of the deranged wheezing wraith, heartened him that his "sister" can handle it but he needed to hear it again from Jarod that this was the right way. No matter how much Jarod denied it, to both of them, Tim knew he still love her and would never hurt her.

Jarod unconsciously bit his lower lip, thinking hard. Then, he looked at Tim. "No matter how we sugar coat it, we're going to hurt her with the truth." Reaching out with his right arm to grasp Tim's left shoulder, needing human contact as well as to let Tim feel what he was feeling, he continued. "But she would have wanted it to be this way. To tell her the truth, no secrets, no hidden agendas." He recalled her outburst when she thought he was holding out on information about Thomas' death the other day.

His concerns assuaged, Tim told Jarod, "Okay, that's good and it's the right thing to do." He went on in a no compromising tone. "We start with the anger first, Jarod. Then, we move on to the tears. Finally, closure. That's the plan." When they hashed out this plan, Jarod wanted to deal with the secrets and hidden truths first then move on to the confrontation, while Tim wanted to reverse it.

Jarod wasn't happy about this. He felt that his way was the best approach. But he was hampered by his pledge not to sim Maureen, thereby depriving him of a convincing argument with Tim. Without his Pretender skills being put to use, Tim and his empath ability had the upper hand over him. He was forced to concede to Tim's approach. "We'll go with the original plan," Jarod grumpily said.

Tim beamed. It wasn't very often that he won his argument. But when he did, he was very, very happy. "We better get going."

Checking his watch, Jarod said, "Let's go."

* * *

Miss Parker looked out the window again. She noticed that the streetlamps had just turned on. Night descended telling the world that it was ready to close the curtain on another day. She glanced at the silent phone willing it to ring. But, heedless of her silent demand, it remained mute.

Turning away from the window, she stalked back to the kitchen. She stopped by the counter and crossed her arms. Parker was tapping the fingers of her left hand on her right biceps. _Should I cook something quick or order a pizza?_

She hated being indecisive. Her Centre persona would've easily made a decision. Order out or even skip dinner altogether. Also, that woman would never have passed up a glass of whiskey.

But she was the guest here. So she had to wait for Jarod's input on what to do for dinner. She had to learn to be considerate of others. Something that she couldn't afford to do in the cutthroat Centre, not if she wanted to live to see another sunrise.

Parker shook her head and muttered, "Dammit, Jarod, where are you? What were you trying to tell me?" A wicked grin appeared on her face. She couldn't wait for 2:00a.m. to roll around. She was going to pepper Jarod with a lot of annoying questions and irritating observations.

Putting the planned phone call to the back of her mind, Parker decided, with a shrug of her shoulders, that she might as well cover both bases as far as dinner was concerned. Giving a glance at the clock, she saw it was almost 8:00p.m.

She looked to make sure that the phone numbers on the three pizza delivery magnets sticking to the refrigerator door were legible. They were. Next, she looked into the pantry and settled on a box of macaroni and cheese. Reading the cooking directions, she was please that it would be made quickly.

Parker put the box down on the counter. Thinking about dinner led to her desire to cook an entire meal for Jarod. She wanted to see the look of pleasant surprise when he ate the first bite. She knew that he teased her mercilessly about her culinary skills or lack thereof when he was on the run. But she picked up a few things while behind bars. One of them being a cook.

She was about to reminisce some more when she heard the sound of the garage door being open. _Finally_. She relaxed imperceptibly. Parker's concern for Jarod quickly turned to a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

That mysterious answer he gave her just before he left to wherever the hell he went off was an itch that she needed to scratch. Now, as she waited for Jarod to come in from the garage, she was going to demand that he tell her where he went to.

_Damn, I'm acting like his wife_. She squashed that aching thought. Parker didn't want Jarod to see how much not being his wife pained her.

* * *

After getting out of the car and the garage door closing behind them, Jarod and Tim stood before the closed door that led into the kitchen. The two of them realized the momentous occasion standing before them.

They were together again. The reunion of the last three Red Files. The crown jewels of the Centre. That's how the Centre's faceless, evil men and women dehumanized them. Nothing more than tools to be used to enrich themselves and gain ever more power for themselves.

But Jarod, Tim, and Maureen once were children and they gave themselves a special label to each other.

Friend.

These childhood friends forged a bond while growing up. A bond forged in fire. Loss, pain, misery, abuse, and a pervasive darkness that never seemed to let go of them. In three different ways, they were torn apart as they grew up and the Centre began to tighten its hold on them.

Now, in Jarod's house, which saw more than its share of heartbreak, the three of them would start the healing process, repair their frayed bonds, and find a way to reconnect with each other.

Tim was the first to speak up in the heavy silence. He captured Jarod's attention by the advice that he gave. "Don't play this game, Jarod." Jarod was unresponsive to what he just said so the empath spoke more urgently. "Don't let _her_ play it."

Jarod was confused and upset at Tim. He thought it would be amusing to tell the empath that the game he used to play with Parker when she was in charge of dragging him back to the Centre was now on again at Parker's insistence. Frowning at his friend, he realized that Tim believed that it wasn't really funny at all. "Why did you say that? Admit it, you had just as good a time as I did screwing the Centre over by helping me all those years when I was on the run."

Tim did love screwing the Centre. Especially if he could frustrate their designs on his friends. But that was then, this was now. Today, there was no more Centre, nor more of their scumbags getting their just desserts. Tim realized with growing alarm that he had to get Jarod's head out of the past. The same with Miss Parker.

"The Centre doesn't matter anymore. It's dead and buried." Letting his concern show in his words, he continued, "As for why, the answer is too many years have been lost, too many chances missed, and too many possible futures gone." After waiting for a moment to let his observations sink in, he pressed the Pretender, "Let her in, Jarod." Both men knew what he meant with those words.

Jarod responded defensively, "Do you know what she will do to me?" She would make him feel again, to dream once more, and to love anew. That's what scared him. Because she did have that power over him. He knew he would allow it if he dropped all his defenses.

Tim shot back, "Do you know what she can do _for_ you?" Knowing Jarod's emotions, he knew that was exactly why Parker was sorely needed for Jarod. They can heal each other.

"You're taking her side," Jarod pouted. He felt betrayed that Tim was taking Parker's side even though he had no contact with her in over five years, while he saw Tim, work and personal schedule permitting, regularly.

Tim let out an irritated snort. "I'm not taking sides. I'm helping both of you. Whether both of you like it or not." He should have known better but now with the two of them under the same roof it was blatantly obvious. His best friends were a high maintenance couple. Stubborn, ornery, and more stubborn than mules. Tim sighed inwardly. He was going to have a lot of heavy lifting to do in the near future.

Jarod was about to argue Tim's point when the door opened in front of them.

"Jarod, what's holding you up? What the hell…" Parker's voice trailed off as she saw Tim standing next to Jarod.

* * *

Parker waited for Jarod to come through the door. A curious look appeared as he didn't appear. After almost a week in his home, she can tell how long it took for him to leave his car and come into the kitchen area.

It was taking too long. Giving in to her impatience, she stalked over to the door, twisted the doorknob and turned. Opening the door, she saw Jarod and barked out, "Jarod, what's holding you up?" but the rest of what she was going to say faded away as she took in the sight of who was standing next to Jarod. "What the hell…"

Jarod sprang into action. Quickly giving Tim a terse, "Wait here until I explain things to Parker," he then proceeded to push Parker back into the kitchen.

Once they crossed the threshold of the door, Jarod closed the door in Tim's face. That done, he turned to Parker.

"What's Angelo doing here?" she asked dazedly. Parker was stunned, excited, and nervous. She never expected to see her other childhood friend. Then guilt assaulted her for not trying hard enough to find out what ever happened to him since her release from prison.

"He's my guest. Tim's been staying with me, off and on, for some time," he answered. He was quite aware of him grasping her by her biceps. But this was not one of their "moments". It was altogether something different.

Her guilty feelings rapidly changed to one of physical pain. She looked at Jarod, shocked at how tight a grip he was holding her. "You're hurting me," she bit out. "Let me go." Parker tried to shake him off but he only tightened his grip on her. She began to worry about this extreme change in demeanor when Jarod spoke up.

"Don't ever call him Angelo," he ordered her. Jarod saw her head snap up at hearing the edge in his voice. "Or Cousin It, furball, two legged freak, or any other demeaning names you've given him." Before continuing, he made sure her eyes were focused on his. "I spent a long time convincing him to stop using that name. I don't want you to ruin his progress by calling him Angelo. Do you understand me, Maureen?" He squeezed even harder when she didn't respond to him immediately.

Parker winced in pain as he ratcheted up his hold. "Yes, okay, Jarod. Now let go!" The pain in her biceps was starting to throb angrily.

He didn't let go, he only eased up. Jarod wanted to make sure that Parker understood exactly how serious this meant to him. Angelo was a name he learned to despise only recently. Recently, in his case, the time he spent in the Chicago area hospital recuperating after being pulled out from the ruins of Sears Tower.

"You better," warned Jarod darkly. "I'm not playing games with you or jerking you around. You can call him Tim, Timmy, or Timothy. Are we clear on his name, Parker?" He reinforced his message to make sure it sunk in. "If I ever hear you calling him Angelo or anything other the three names I just gave, I'll throw your ass out of my house," he threatened.

Miss Parker was angry and hurt, emotionally and physically, at the way Jarod treated her and threatened her. "That's what he was always called at the Centre," she furiously pointed out. She had to know why he was doing this to her. "Why are you so concern about my using Angelo as his name?"

She saw a look flitter across his face. A look she recognized all too well. Sadness, disappointment, and pain. Then he began to explain in a soft and broken voice. "Timothy was the name given by his parents. A mother and a father who loved him just for what he was, not what he can do for a bunch of murderers." Guilt flared anew in her troubled soul. _Will it never end?_ "Two people who worried about him, care for him, and hope for the best in his future."

The grasp that Jarod held her in and the attendant pain got ignored as Parker felt and shared in his telling of his agony. Her eyes began to tear up as, once again, Jarod reminded her of the Centre's evil. She listened intently as Jarod spoke with more heat and venom.

"That son of a bitch, Raines, forced that name Angelo onto Tim. It was just like him to rename a boy that he ruined just so he could claim that he didn't made a mistake. That the creation of _Angelo_," putting heavy emphasis on that name, "was exactly what a genius like him intended all along."

Dropping his arms suddenly, Jarod agitatedly raked his prosthetic left arm through his short hair. Parker subconsciously rubbed her aching arms after he let her go. She blinked back her tears. "I tried Parker," his remaining eye pleading for her to understand what he did for their mutual friend. "I spent time and money trying to track down Tim's parents. Tracking down any clue, any hint that might lead me to them."

"Did you find them?" Parker whispered out. Her Inner Sense already told her what his answer would be.

Jarod jerkily shook his head and a sob appeared in his answer. "No, nothing. It's like they disappeared off the face of the Earth." Jarod looked at Maureen, his shoulders slumped over in defeat. Then he added mournfully, "We're all that he has left."

"Oh, Jar," Parker cried out softly as she crossed the distance that separated them. She stopped just in front of him, arms ready to hold him. Once again, she invaded his personal space. The brunette wanted to hug him, seeking to comfort him as well as for her. But after his rejection in the interrogation room, she held back, waiting for Jarod to make the next move.

He was bleeding inside. Jarod swore that he would give his all to reunite Tim with his family. Retelling his failure to Parker only reopened the wound that he thought scabbed over. Now, it was back raw and fresh.

_Just this once_, he begged Rachel, _for letting down Timmy._ _I just need someone right now._ Jarod closed the space that separated them and slowly put his arms around her. He shut his right eye as he felt her embrace.

Parker held onto him. A small part of her right now was glad that Jar finally let her physically show her concern for him but the rest of her was consumed by a gaping anguish for Tim. She would look after Tim but right now, with this man whom she loved more than life itself, in her arms, he needed her attention.

Softly, she whispered reassurances to him. "You did everything humanly possible for Tim, Jar. He knows it as well as I do." She made comforting motions on his back as she felt him tense beneath her arms. "We both know that you look after your friends."

Jarod soaked up her warmth. He felt completely relaxed for the first time since Rachel was alive. He inhaled her scent yet again, tucking it away in a corner of his mind again to be savored in a future time. And, most of all, he believed her. To hear from Parker absolving him of any failures to find Tim's parents meant more than even than Tim's words of assurances. He was never sure whether Tim was trying to please him rather than tell what he imagined to be the truth. That he fucked up and disappointed his little brother.

Time stood still for Jarod and Miss Parker. Finding comfort in each other and vowing to be always there for Tim, their friend and brother-in-spirit.

* * *

Laughter. Happy laughter pouring forth from a young girl's voice. Giggly delight. The only one who heard that joyous sound was Tim.

Watching that girl skipping around the garage, Tim can only join in her laughter. Carefully, though. He did promise her a very long time ago not to let anyone know that she was still around.

"What happened, Faith? What did they do?" Tim softly asked his childhood sweetheart.

Faith stopped prancing around and strode up to him. While she was walking towards him, her appearance metamorphosed from a young girl to a stunning woman around the same age as Tim, Parker, and Jarod.

Smiling at him, her eyes sparkled with pleasure. "They were hugging each other, Timmy." Faith couldn't contain her joy. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Her body may be a woman's but inside that body still beat the heart of a young girl. "Miss Parker was whispering into Jarod's ear."

"Did you know what she said to him?" asked Tim. His curiosity was palpable as he waited for Jarod to summon him.

"Um, hmm," nodded Faith. Her long blond hair flew untamed all about her as she nodded her head. Tim saw that she was wearing her long white sleep robe, similar to the one she wore while undergoing chemotherapy in the Containment Area. He hid his disappointment in not seeing her wear the other clothes that she regularly appeared in.

"Tell me, Faith," wheedled Tim. Many times he had to prod her because she preferred to give curt answers. "What did Miss Parker say?"

A teasing pause. Seeing his impatient look, Faith gave a sweet giggle and spoke, "She said that he did everything humanly possible to find your parents, Timmy." She stopped and smiled broadly.

"Faith," Tim drew her name out, using the same tone that a parent uses when they knew their child was holding something back. "The rest?"

Beaming jubilation shone on her angelic face. "Miss Parker also told him that he always looks after his friends."

Tim looked at her and smiled broadly. "He does."

The ghostly presence of Faith nodded, intoning in a more serious voice, "Yes, he always does."

Reaching out with her right hand, she let it hover just above his left cheek. Both of them, the physical and the spectral, discern that they can never touch each other until Tim moved on to the next life. For now, they made the best out of their situation.

Tim emulated her by reaching out with his right hand and held it just above her ghostly left cheek.

This star-crossed couple, like their mutual friends, let time passed by as they basked in each other's presence.

Finally, after an interminable period, Faith slowly pulled her hand back and let it fall to her side. "You have to tell her," she gravely declared, "what the Centre did to me."

A uncertain look emerged on Tim's face. He questioned her, "Why me? Why not Jarod? I thought that we agreed that Jarod should tell Miss Parker everything."

"Yes, but you were closer to me than Jarod ever was," Faith proclaimed matter-of-factly. "I believe it would be best that my sister be told of the actual cause of my death from the one who love me." She smiled at him, trust shining from her lustrous blue eyes.

He couldn't resist her, not when she was using that look on him. But it wasn't necessary because her argument was very convincing. He did love her. No one knew her better than himself. Jarod and Parker only knew her back then as another child of the Centre. Only later did those two found out Faith was the adopted daughter of Catherine Parker and her late, unlamented husband, as well as Miss Parker's sister.

Jarod and Miss Parker barely knew Faith's caring, concerned side. Nor the gritty side of her. Tim was the only one who really understood the compassion she displayed for the three children of the Centre who were her only friends. Even as the leukemia was killing her, with him succoring her, she showed such a remarkable fortitude enduring the treatments that offered her the only salvation of living to see another day.

Biding their time for those rare moments to creep away from the sinister adults, the three children would surreptitiously show up underneath the white tent that hid Faith from everyone and cheer her up. Parker would hold Faith's hand and speak words of encouragement. If Faith's leukemia could be cured by force of will alone, than Parker would have had her up and walking by then. Jarod would always be by Parker's side, reinforcing the messages of hope and support. Tim, damaged by Raines, could only silently watch the interplay of the other three children.

It was natural for him to be apart from Miss Parker and Jarod. He was either on the opposite of Faith's bed or silently standing in the corner while the two would talk to Faith. Even with his disabilities and growing empathy at that age, he recognized that his two friends were destined to be together.

When they had to leave Faith and head back to Sydney, Daddy, and Raines, he was the last one to leave the room.

Tim was the constant in Faith's short stay at the Centre. It was he who crawled through the vents to be by Faith's side and held her hands in those long, dark hours as her body was wracked by pain and the drugs being pumped into her when Jarod and Parker couldn't be there.

It was those times that they bonded. Like Jarod and Miss Parker, they forged a connection that surmounted even death itself. Tim would find his voice to express his support and devotion to her. In turn, he listened to Faith's dreams and hopes and desires. Never once did he say anything negative about them, always he would encourage, giving her the strength to go on for another day.

Until, finally, her days ran out.

Timmy saw the rosary she gave to Faith hoping that it would help her. But it was too late. He heard the tears from Miss Parker. The devastation and grief pouring forth from her and, to a lesser extent, from Jarod, was overwhelming. Their need to understand why a terrible thing happened to such a good person like Faith consumed them.

But it was nothing compared to what Tim felt. He lost Faith. She was his alpha and his omega. His love. Gone.

The other two Red Files didn't ask how he felt or wondered what he was growing through, so wrapped up in their grief and finding comfort in each other. Tim had no one to comfort him, to tell him everything will be okay, that Faith would have wanted him to move on.

No one, except one day in his hideaway deep in the Centre's HVAC system, Faith appeared. Otherworldly, glowing, and vibrant. Tim, unique and special, didn't panic nor felt any fear when this apparition showed up before him. Rather, it was the opposite. He was happy to see her again, his other half was back.

"Thinking about us again?" Faith asked, with a knowing smile.

"Yes," Tim smiled back. "Just remembering the day you came back to me."

"I did promise that I would look over you, Jarod, and Miss Parker," Faith spoke gently as she moved a step closer to Tim. "You three were there for me when I didn't want to be all alone. It was my turn to look after you after I moved on."

"You helped us," Tim confirmed, "when we needed it." He thought back to that horrid time when Parker almost died from her ulcer and Jarod stranded in the wintry Montana wilderness. He looked again into her hypnotic blue eyes. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," she smiled appreciatively at her soul mate. She tilted her head. "Jarod's coming." Stepping back, Faith started to fade away. Giving him one last look, she waved her right hand, "I'll be back. I love you, Timmy."

* * *

Jarod loathed letting go of Parker but he had to. Tim was waiting for him. Gently, he pulled away from her. "I have to go get Tim," he whispered into Parker's ear.

_No,_ she silently demanded, _don't let go_. But Jarod was already withdrawing from her. Her body ached for him, his warmth turned to coldness, the reassuring pressure of Jarod's body missing against hers.

Her arms fell against her sides. Parker gazed at the man she loved. She nodded, unable to speak.

Jarod hurriedly turned away, afraid that what he glimpsed of her face would draw him back to her and never leave her.

He gathered his rampaging thoughts before grabbing the doorknob. Opening the door, seeing Tim waiting expectantly for him, Jarod told his other best friend, "Come in, Tim. It's time."

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to my uncle who died while I was writing this. I miss you, Uncle Jack. _Requiescat in pace…_

I just finished watching Season 4. Jarod and Zoe? No way, no how, no can do. A fling, yes. But a LTR? Jarod would be bored out of his mind and she wouldn't be able to handle his dark side.

Do you honestly think that Faith would only appear just to Jarod and Parker and not to Timmy? She promised she would watch over _all_ of them. What do you think he was doing the rest of the time when he wasn't helping Jarod and Miss Parker? Besides, I like the what-if between Timmy and Faith.

I made Faith an adult and not a girl because her friends grew up. Besides, this is my story and I get to do what I want. So there… LOL!

The reunion chapter is turning out to like the Energizer bunny. It keeps going and going. I'm thinking that the reunion will be a mini story in itself. Probably another chapter or two.

Please read and review. I hope most, if not all of you, enjoy this chapter. Thanks.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 16

Tim followed Jarod into the kitchen. His heart was hammering as he caught a glimpse of Miss Parker's head beyond Jarod's shoulder. _What happened to her hair? _He silently rebuked himself for being concerned about such a trivial matter. The empath could feel the tension and sadness smothering the room. Then finally, before him, stood Miss Parker. _She's back_, Tim exclaimed to himself, feeling the waves of emotion emanating from her. Emotions that gave evidence that she finally got rid of that hideous Centre persona.

His train of thought was derailed when Jarod slowly came to a halt. All three Red Files stood silently, delicately observing one another, pensively waiting for someone to make the first move.

Parker, with her usual impatience, was the one who finally broke the tense tableau. But exhibiting her trepidation, she carefully walked towards Tim and held out her right hand, though in a manner of someone expecting it to be bitten off and was ready to snatch it back.

Tim saw and felt Parker's awkward attempt at a greeting. He strode forward, brushing past her outstretch hands and gave her a bonecrushing hug. "Welcome home," he told her, pent up emotions pouring out of him, turning his already rough voice rougher, his eyes tearing.

Parker wasn't expecting this. His open arm embrace and his heartfelt greeting. "Timmy…" mindful of Jarod's warning, her voice cracking as his words finally penetrated her mind. She started crying, her body shaking. Those two words of his held so many layers of meaning. A reminder of what she once was, a promise of what she could be once more.

Timmy was welcoming her back, the girl who befriended him and treated him as a human being. The little girl who introduced him to the wonders of Cracker Jack and other forbidden delicacies. The girl who once cared and had a heart before the Centre dug its claws into her soul and almost took her away.

Jarod watched as the years and the yawning gulf evaporated under the intense heat of this almost unimaginable rapprochement. He felt tears slowly streaming down from his good eye. A tightness formed in his throat and his heart felt lighter than it has been in a long while. This was more than he hoped for or expected.

A step forward for them all, he thought, furiously wiping his eye. Jarod turned away as the hug continued. The only thing marring this happy scene was his desire not to let Parker see how this was affecting him. Jarod was afraid that she would think that he still care about her. That was the last thing he wanted her to think, Tim's admonishment notwithstanding.

Here was someone who cared about her unselfishly, with no hidden agenda to pursue. It felt so good, so right. A warmth in a frigid, lifeless void. A relief to not worry about letting her guard down and be taken advantage of. Something that she couldn't do after Momma's death.

She told Timmy in a roughened voice, "It's…it's great…to be back." Those words led her to cry even harder.

Tim patted her back reassuringly, gently saying words of comfort to her. He slowly rocked her back and forth, "It is, isn't it?" Timmy reluctantly released her from his tight hold and gave her a searching look.

He was in awe at this woman who has been through so much, bore a burden that would have destroyed a lesser person, yet didn't lose her humanity no matter how much the ghouls of the Centre came close to succeeding.

Wiping away her tears with the back of her hands, she nodded shakily, a halting half-laugh in the middle of her sobs. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me." Parker tried to regain her composure but having her two closest and oldest friends there, without the omnipresent Centre cameras and the dark sinister figures in the shadows, left her in a naked emotional state. A state that, upon quick reflection, she didn't mind at all.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Parker," Tim smiled comfortingly. Out of the corner of his eye, he took note that Jarod had his back turned towards them. In the heat of their reconnection, Jarod was momentarily forgotten. The empath decided to correct that. "Right, Jarod?"

Jarod stiffened when Tim tossed him that question. Hurriedly wiping away the evidence that he was crying, he slowly turned to face the other two. Seeing the two other faces, also both tear stained, looking expectantly at him, Jarod cautiously answered. "Right." His brusqueness was deliberate. Jarod wasn't sure what would come out of his mouth if he gave a long answer. Something surprising like the real possibility that he was still longing for Parker.

Miss Parker, sniffling and wiping away the last of her tears, pretended not to see the evidence that Jarod was crying. Alongside her, Timmy did the same. She was going through such a gamut of emotions right now: Jarod and her embracing, Timmy welcoming her with open arms, and, most of all, the three of them together again just like they when they were children.

But first, she had to deal with something of more immediate concern. Like feeding them. Just like before when she was a girl, she was going to take care of them. Bringing her feelings under control Parker cleared her throat and asked them, "The two of you must be hungry." Smiling shakily and self-consciously, "Do you want me to order out or make something up?"

The question caught the men off guard as they were still coping with this reunion of theirs. Jarod was the first to recover. "Um, I'm not that hungry." He winced inwardly at all the fat, oil, grease, and lard he and Tim pigged out on while driving back from the Endowment.

Tim nodded in agreement. "I ate on the way down here," he told her, doing his best to hide his guilt.

Parker narrowed her reddened eyes. She noted their guilty looks and knowing from past experiences their nauseating fondness for junk food, her suspicions were raised. "Just what exactly did you ate, Timmy? Did Jarod buy you junk food? Again?" arms folded in front of her and an arch eyebrow accompanying her questions.

She glanced at Jarod, signs of weeping gone, who was avidly watching something interesting on the kitchen floor. Parker looked at what he was staring. _Thought so_.

Tim tried to capture Jarod's attention but he was intent on achieving some kind of communion with the hardwood floor. "Uh,…" he began, furiously trying to think of an answer that would prevent Miss Parker from using her biting wit on them, or worse, an old time lecture straight out of their childhood. He needn't have bothered.

Parker rolled her eyes. In an irked tone, she told them, "Don't tell me how much junk you've eaten. I know it's more than what's good for the both of you." She hid her disappointment. Maureen was, conceding to herself, looking forward to dinner with her friends. She imagined it would be filled with laughter and smiles all around as they fondly recalled the adventures and pranks they pulled as children, no longer being on guard, openly showing affection for each other without the almost paralyzing fear that the Centre would somehow exploit their feelings towards each other.

It would have been nothing like the irregular and tense dinners held at either the Parker mansion or one of the spirit leaching Centre dining rooms. An event where you must never display any weaknesses in front of your enemies, quickly parse words uttered by your dinner companions for hidden threats or secrets, and always have your Smith and Wesson pistol locked and loaded and within easy reach. Parker remarked once to Sydney that it was almost like the scene from Kevin Costner's "The Untouchables" where Robert DeNiro's Al Capone, bashed one of his men's head in with a baseball bat for betraying him.

Jarod finally looked up from his communion with the hardwood floor and defensively said, "We got hungry, Parker, and we just bought what was fast and easy to eat." _And really tasty._

"So the both of you ate junk," Parker stated in a flat voice. _How they can eat that and not get fat or lose their teeth…_. Shaking her head in disgust and ignoring her empty stomach she said, "Well, let's forget about dinner then."

Tim quickly objected, "But you haven't eaten anything." He felt guilty for pigging out on the drive back causing Miss Parker to miss out on dinner. There was only one thing to do. Glancing over at Jarod before returning his attention to the mildly annoyed woman before him, "Jarod can cook something for you."

Jarod agreed, "I can make something fast." Indicating the box of mac and cheese, "You still want that or something else?"

"Like what," Parker queried curiously. She kicked herself mentally for not taking the time to observe what other kinds of food Jarod ate.

He was about to suggest bouillabaisse but that idea never passed his lips. Jarod reflected back to the day he was introduced to Rachel's homemade bouillabaisse after she saw him binging on Lipton's instant soup while they were working on a case. It was much, much better. Like eating in a fast food place to a three star restaurant found in the Michelin guide. From that day forward, the bouillabaisse was their culinary shorthand for something special like their birthdays, wedding anniversary, and the day they first met.

Jarod didn't let his hesitation linger though. Rather, he decided to forge ahead, confidently believing that Rachel wouldn't mind him feeding Parker their special stew. Straightening up, he walked over to the refrigerator. Speaking over his shoulder, he bragged, "I got some world class bouillabaisse that you'll love." He was always boasting to anyone he cornered about Rachel's mouth-watering recipe. Until the day she was killed.

Maureen was a bit mystified at Jarod's enthusiasm over a fish stew and a bit dazed from all the whipsawing emotions that Jarod and Timmy were putting her through but she decided to humor him. "Sure, Jar, that sounds delicious." She wasn't a particularly picky eater so she didn't mind that fish was being served. Unlike Daddy who went into rages if he ever saw fish on his plate.

Tim understood the reasoning behind Jarod's enthusiasm and vented a sigh of relief. Miss Parker was definitely becoming a positive influence on his friend. Until today, Jarod clung to every reminder, physical and emotional, of Rachel. He wouldn't share her with anyone. Not her brother. Not his family. Not his friends. Now, in a small symbolic first step, Jarod was sharing something that was special to him and him alone.

Her go-ahead ringing in his ears, Jarod immediately took the frozen bouillabaisse out of the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and placed it on the counter next to the gas stove. Next, he bent down to the stove's storage compartment and pulled out a small pot. After rinsing it out, he placed it on one of the burners.

Parker and Tim watched in companionable silence as Jarod continued preparing the bouillabaisse. They saw him pulling the cover off the container and unceremoniously dumped the frozen stew into the pot than turning the burner on.

Maureen couldn't resist asking Jarod, "Wouldn't it be faster if you just microwaved it?"

Jarod smiled at her. Tim knew why he wouldn't microwaved Rachel's bouillabaisse. "Yes, it would have been faster," Jarod agreed with her. "But it doesn't taste the same as if you warmed it up on the stove." Shaking his head, "However, even this leftover can't beat fresh bouillabaisse."

Tim added, "You really ought to try it fresh, Miss Parker. It's very delicious." Tim was grateful that Jarod provided an opening for him to help move along their relationship.

A relationship that was torturous and riddled with twists and turns that all three of them never could have imagined as children. The empath hoped that, without the demented influence of the Centre on Jarod and Miss Parker, their relationship can progress with the ultimate goal of them being permanently together. He sure as hell was going to do his best to see that happen.

Of course, Tim thought nervously, what knowledge of interpersonal relationships he learned was gleaned from the self-help books and websites he read as well as the strange shows on daytime TV. Like that woman named Oprah whom he was convinced was the leader of a cult.

"If you say so, Timmy," Parker said skeptically. Her eyes widened slightly. She hadn't told him her first name. Something she vowed she was going to do as a sign of leaving behind her Ice Queen persona.

Maureen turned until she stood face to face with Timmy, who gave her a curious and slightly nervous look. Smiling reassuringly at him, Parker gently spoke to him. "You don't have to call me Miss Parker anymore, Timmy." Placing her right hand on his left shoulder and squeezing it lightly, she continued, "My first name is Maureen. Please use it."

He was stunned. Tim shook his head thinking he was hearing things. However, when he saw the encouraging nod from her, he knew it was for real. Miss Parker actually has a first name! Timmy heard the speculations among the sweepers, cleaners, and the rest of the Centre staff about her first name. Some wondered if "Miss" was actually her first name. Others whispered that her first name must be another strange and frightening project conjured up by the dead man walking.

Timmy, with his brain damaged at that time, couldn't get the question out or phrased it in a way that wouldn't cause her to be angry at him. He valued Parker's companionship more than upsetting her by asking her about her first name.

Seeing the kindness in her blue-gray eyes rather than the customary hard-edged defensiveness, Tim intoned revealingly, "I've always wanted to ask you what your first name was or, um, whether you actually had one."

Parker was taken aback at Timmy's words. "I do have one, Timmy. It's just that Daddy told me that if anyone knew it, they would use it against me." As she finished saying that, Maureen knew it even made no sense at all to her own ears. Another lie, another twist to the knife in her soul. "I wish I had told you when we were children."

Deciding to try her first name for the first time, Timmy allayed her guilt, "Better late than never, Maureen." He halted. Unconsciously, he braced for the inevitable Miss Parker outburst but when she didn't erupt, he went on. "I'm just glad the real you is back and willing to tell me. Thank you."

Preoccupied with Timmy, she didn't saw the grimace that flitted across Jarod's face. What Parker didn't know, yet, was the real reason that Mr. Parker wanted to use only her last name was to have everyone kept at a distance, to prevent any sort of close relationship between her and anyone else. Like the kind that he and Tim had with her when they were children.

It was masterful stroke by the Chairman, Jarod hatefully conceded. Deprived of any close relationship with any other human being, he could manipulate his "daughter" to his and the Centre's advantage.

Parker almost started crying again. Blinking her eyes, she flashed back to the day at the Centre's beach when she realized what a treasure she had in these two men before her. She shook her head forcing the tears back. _Enough of that_, she sternly ordered herself. Mustering a semblance of self control, she smiled gratefully at him. "You're welcome, my friend."

Jarod saw it. Another turning point for her. Before things got more maudlin and the plan going awry, he spoke up. "Tim, why don't you set a place for Maureen?" Taking a quick look at the pot, he saw the leftover stew was starting to boil. "The bouillabaisse is almost ready. Maureen, please sit down and relax a bit. Let us men treat you," a small wry grin appearing on Jarod's face. A voice in his head was reminding him to stay aloof after she almost got by his defenses but Jarod ignored it. _For now, I'll play nice, for Tim's sake._

Parker took up his invitation and sat down. Timmy quickly appeared with a bowl, spoon, napkin, and a glass of water. She leaned back and let him set the utensils and water before her. He was about to turn to go over to see if Jarod needed any help when she reached out and took his hand. "Timmy, please sit down," patting the chair next to her. "We've got a lot to catch up on. Besides," looking at Jarod, "Jar got things under control."

Tim looked over to Jarod who glanced at Parker who was watching the two of them silently communicate with each other. "Why don't you hold off? Like I said, it's almost done."

Tim nodded. "This can wait after you've eaten." He slowly pulled his hand away from hers. He could feel her disappointment and frustration. The empath stopped pulling his hand away from her. Instead, he reached back and pressed her hand. He smiled, "Patience, Maureen. We'll still be here for you."

Parker couldn't help but return his smile. She so desperately wanted to talk to her friend. To find out what happened to him after the Centre was defeated, what kind of life he was living now, among the other many questions that were whirling through her head.

She was about to speak up again when Jarod appeared with the small pot. He began ladling the stew onto her bowl. "Here you are," he pronounced.

"Thanks, Jar." Spooning up her stew, she began to eat. Parker was surprised at how good it tasted after her first spoonful. Looking up to see the two men watching her in silent expectation, she commented, "This is good. Did you make it yourself?" She bent down to spoon up another portion.

"Yes," Jarod answered. He frowned slightly. "It was from Rachel's recipe."

Her spoon was almost in her mouth when he said that. Without missing a beat, looking directly at Jarod, she continued to eat. "She must have been proud of it," Parker remarked.

"She was." Jarod glanced over at Tim who was watching the two of them with rapt attention. "In fact," Jarod revealed, "this was the first thing she cooked for me."

Parker was deeply amused. A small voice scolded her for feeling this way. She should have been on guard with Jarod regarding Rachel's memory but she couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled out of her. "She sure knew you, Jar."

Jarod was puzzled and expressed it. "How's that?"

She shook her head at his expression. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Parker quoting the old phrase. "Rachel got you with that." Her laughter was infectious. Timmy joined in. She could probably guess that he was thinking the same thing. Jarod's epicurean tastes were notorious between these Red Files.

Jarod gave a self-conscious grin at his two friends. He was happy to see them laughing, something that their grim lives didn't give them much reason to laugh about. He nodded his head and said, "Guilty as charged."

As the laughter settled down, Parker proceeded to finish off the stew while Jarod and Tim waited on her.

Done with her light dinner and before she had a chance to speak, Jarod piped up, "You two head into the office and we can catch up then." Jarod proceeded to clean up the table while his two friends voiced their agreement and headed out of the kitchen area.

Tim and Parker stood around in his office, a bit self-consciously, when Jarod appeared behind them. Seeing them standing there, Jarod gestured towards the sofa and surrounding chairs, "Why don't we sit down and let Tim explain what's been happening with his life after the Centre."

Assents came from both of his childhood friends. Unconsciously or deliberately, the seating arrangements were interesting. Both men sat down on the sofa while Maureen grabbed one of the leather-backed chairs and placed it facing them, after she pushed the coffee table out of her way.

Parker noticed the questioning looks on the men's faces as she pushed the coffee table aside but was determined that there would be no more barriers or distances among the three ever again.

Tim stared at Miss Parker waiting for her next move, trying not to fidget since this was his very first conversation with her as an adult. _Hell_, he thought, _first time talk ever with her since I couldn't communicate normally while growing up._

Maureen looked at the empath sympathetically. She could tell by his squirming that he wasn't used to talking. At least not with her. To allay his nervousness, she mustered up her most caring and understanding smile. "Tim, it's alright," unknowingly using his trademark reply, "I just want to talk with you just like we did as children."

"But, Miss Parker, I mean Maureen, we never talk when we were kids. I couldn't verbalize at all."

A sad and pained look etched her face. Speaking compassionately, "On the face of it, yes. But I look at it another way." Curiosity lit up the empath's eyes as she continued, "You listened to me while I was going thorough a lot of…stuff," looking for a way to describe the hell that was her life. "That was enough, Timmy." Her eyes softened at those long ago days. Days that were bright, cheery, and innocent until they eroded with Faith's death, the fights between her parents, and, ultimately, Momma's death.

Her words soothed Timmy's anxiety. Even though he considered Maureen his "sister", he could never forget the intimidating, hard-bitten Centre operative that was always in his face demanding results and coming up with _imaginative_ names for him.

Clearing his throat and heartened by Parker's words, Tim began telling an engrossed once and future best friend what happened to him after the Centre fell. "When Jarod knocked me out," Parker shot her head over to a stone faced Jarod at this outrageous revelation, "I woke up in a hospital. Jarod and Rachel told me what happened to you, Sydney, and the rest of the Centre's staff." Tim braced for some kind of outburst from her at his mention of Rachel. Nothing. She kept quiet with an expression on her face that invited him to continue.

"When Jarod informed me that you, um, were going to prison, I kind of lost it." Tim broke eye contact with her and snuck a peek over at Jarod. The Pretender's right eye already showed that the barriers were up. Their quarrel conjured up unpleasant memories that were best buried. However, in Tim's retelling to Parker, they were being dug up again.

The two men, in their planning for this weekend of secrets revealed, truth telling, and confrontation, overlooked one thing. They didn't foresee that they were also going to be affected just as hard, as raw, and as painful as it was for Parker.

Parker's curiosity, something never encouraged by Daddy, came to life. As she reminded herself, she had a lot of questions that needed answering. Tim and, perhaps Jar, looking over at the still grim faced Pretender, could help answer a lot of them.

"What do you mean you lost it?" A hint of disbelief palpable in her voice.

Jarod and Tim glanced at each other uncomfortably before they returned their focus to their friend. Tim answered her when it became obvious that Jarod wasn't going to volunteer any information.

She was starting to lose her equable temperament at their obvious reluctance to share information with her. Parker strove to rein in her impatience and let them explain in their plodding fashion.

"I became angry at Jarod," flashing a guilty peek at the Pretender who stayed mute and still, "when he told me that you were arrested and your trial was going to be a mere formality." He stopped and gazed sadly at Parker.

"Go on, Timmy," Maureen gently whispered, dreading yet eager to know what was to come.

"We fought after Jarod…Jarod said you were going to prison for a long time and that I was not to have any contact with you anymore." The empath couldn't look at his "sister" any long and hung his head in guilt and shame.

A hard look came into her gray blue eyes as she shifted focus from a repentant empath to the stony Pretender. "You fought each other?" Parker was sure she was hearing things. Why, she just imagined hearing that Timmy and Jarod fought over her. That was the absurdist thing she ever heard of. However, seeing Jar clenching his jaw and Timmy's guilt stricken expression, it was evidently true. The fact of which led to her next question. "Why, Jar?" Her voice rose and turned plaintive. "Why did you abandon me? Why did the two of you pretend that I no longer existed?"

Timmy shot his head up at her accusation, eyes wide, and violently shaking his head in denial. "No, Miss Parker," falling back to his old form of addressing her, "I would never abandon my sister."

Maureen stiffened at Timmy's declaration that she was his sister. "Sister?"

Jarod finally ended his imitation of a statue and spoke up when he saw Tim was tongue tied while attempting to answer Parker. "Not by blood, Maureen. More in spirit." Leaning his body slightly forward, he continued to explain to an incredulous woman. "Tim called you his sister since he was little. You didn't know it because you were too busy trying to please Daddy or not being around to pay any attention to him." The scarred man smiled grimly, "You left a hell of an impression on Tim, Parker, in order for him to call you his sister."

Looking into his piercing sky blue eyes as Timmy raised his head shyly to see her reaction, she was deeply moved that after all that she put him through he would even consider calling her his sister. _If I was in his shoes and gone through what I put him through, I would have used other more appropriate names than sister._

"I must have," she murmured leaning back against the chair, wondering how she deserved Timmy's unstinting support. Bending slightly forward, speaking past the sudden lump that formed in her throat, Maureen replied, "Back when we were both at the Centre and I was led, for a brief while, to believe that you were my brother, I really wish it was." She halted at the memories crashing into her. The uncertainty of whether Lyle or Timmy was her brother and her secret wish that Timmy was her brother as she found out more and more about Lyle's repulsive and murderous nature.

Giving both men a tiny sad grin, she finished what she was saying. "Thank you for considering me your sister. I would be honored to be your sister, Timmy." She ached from remembering what Jarod had said earlier. They were all Timmy had left.

Here was another turning point for her, she realized. In her Ice Queen persona, it wasn't just the men who wanted to be romantically involved with her that she refuse entry into her heart, it was family and friends as well. Daddy was the only one she would have allowed into her heart but he never bothered to step inside. Her choice led to a life of loneliness and despondency.

Now, she decided to let another person into her heart. Timmy, whom she should have been allowed to care, yes, even love, a lifetime ago. Jarod and Timmy. The only two so far that she felt safe to allow into her heart and to trust.

Timmy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Miss-er, Maureen. I would be glad to." _She really has changed. _Intellectually he believed Jarod and ninety-nine percent of his heart believed it, too but there was that remaining one percent which harbored doubt about her ability to grow and change. Yet, sitting here, feeling the depth of her emotions, the last remaining shred of doubt vanished.

Jarod involuntarily clenched his hands at seeing this. This scene, no matter how touching it was, threatened to derail the plan. He was trying to get Tim's attention when Parker brought them back to her original question.

Maureen got her mind back to the question that had plagued her since her sentencing. Fixing her penetrating eyes on the once more silent Pretender, she asked again, "Why did you abandon me, Jar? Why did the two of you pretend that I no longer existed?"

Jarod squirmed uneasily as he prepared to answer her. Seeing her eyes alight with fury and pained bewilderment, he faltered. How could he explain that what he was feeling at that time was fueled by rage and hate and the destruction of deeply held illusions?

Timmy felt Jarod's hesitation. He remembered the raw emotions Jarod radiated in the aftermath of the Sears Tower attack and sympathized with him but knew that Maureen deserved the truth. He unhappily accepted Jarod's request that he not keep in touch with her. "Jarod," he prodded, "tell her. Remember, no more secrets."

Tim's words drove Jarod to reveal the reasons why he cut off all communications with Parker.

Maureen and Timmy saw Jarod tense up before answering their questions. He locked eyes with Parker broken only to look at Tim to ensure that he was a participant in what he was about to say.

A long pause then he began. "I'll tell you why." Remembering the Sears Tower atrocity and his role in it, the anger flared up once more. "You reminded me of the over ten thousand people murdered by the Centre. I was consumed with hate at the Centre. I loathed everyone and everything that was connected to the Centre." _That's an understatement_, he bitingly observed to himself. "Once the Centre was destroyed, I wanted to have nothing to do with the Centre anymore." Glaring at her, he growled, "Even you, Parker."

A jumble of emotions from guilt to anger pounded her. "You think I would have anything to do with something so evil?" she shot back in disbelief. "I would have done something to prevent it if I knew." Parker drove on in spite of the deep skepticism on Jarod's face. "So just like that, you cut me off and," pointing at the empath, "forcing Timmy to do the same." Maureen couldn't sit still while attempting to deal with the fact that Jarod abandoned her at her lowest point and hurt by the thought that she would be associated with anything like the Sears Tower attack. She stood up and glared down at him.

Jarod matched her glare with one of his own as he shot up from where he sat. "I'm taking care of Tim. You made your choices, I made mine." Growling, he continued. "Even after what happened to Thomas and Catherine, you chose to stay with the family business." The bitterness and disappointment that he kept bottled up inside came rushing out.

Their earlier tender moment in the kitchen was a memory as they deliberately walked up to each other girding themselves for another round of verbal clashing. Something that both tried to put behind but old habits die hard.

"Like I had a choice?" Maureen's voice rose showing her incredulity. She was also furious. "How dare you bring Momma and Tommy into this!? Look what happened to them when they challenged the Centre." Looking at him, she fumed. Jar knew how devastated she was when two of the people she loved the most were murdered.

Tim took it all in with morbid fascination. This was the first time that he actually witness one of their infamous spats that he overheard Sydney and Broots discussing when they were sure that no one, especially Miss Parker, was around to overhear them.

Now, he saw Jarod snapping back at her. "Of course, they were murdered. Two among many countless victims. You could have helped me bring down the Centre but you chose to ignore what was going on around you. Why was it that I always dug up the truth for you, Parker? Huh?" He waited agitatedly for an answer from her. Jarod continued on the offensive after seeing her struggle to respond to his charges. "Why was it that I always had to get you off your skinny ass before you started looking for the truth? Why were you pretending to be an ostrich? For a Red File labrat," using one of her favorite putdowns of him, "you were sure damn eager on burying your head in the sand."

"I'm not a damn fucking idiot, you bastard. You know as well as I do that people who nose around where they don't belong wind up dead." She was so angry and upset by Jarod's description about her as well as the original pain of being left by him that she blurted out, "You left me all alone, Jarod. I needed you and you weren't there."

"Me leaving you? We didn't left you, you left us." Jarod couldn't believe her accusation. "You treated us like shit! Calling us all those names, names that you knew would hurt us, make us feel less than human."

Maureen and Tim saw the veins in Jarod's temples were throbbing. His anger was palpable and

his face was turning an alarming shade of red. "Furthermore, you never apologized to Tim about the verbal and emotional abuse you'd inflicted on him." Folding his arms in front of him, breathing hard, he challenged her, "Well, are you?"

Parker's pride flared up. "I'll apologize to Timmy when it's the right time," she snapped angrily at him. "I'll be damn if you're going to tell me when and how to apologize to him."

Before Jarod could formulate a reply, Tim quickly interjected, trying to put an end their confrontation, "Jarod, let her apologize at her own time and place. Don't force Maureen to do something that she doesn't want to."

Parker gave Timmy a grateful look. He acknowledged it by a nod of his head and a small smile. However, looking at Jarod, she saw it didn't have the intended effect that Timmy wanted. Rather, it goaded him on.

"No, Tim," snapped Jarod. "Stop protecting her. Miss Parker always fights her own battles. She doesn't want any help." His striking brown eye turned harder as he snidely asked, "Right?"

Maureen was piqued. He was trying to provoke her. The old competitive urge to beat Jarod at anything he chose to excel in warred with her desire to bury the hatchet with the two men who meant the most to her. She decided to take the high road for all of their sakes.

"Damn right I'll fight my battles," Maureen shot back but she surprised the others by what she said next. "But I'm not here to pick a fight or rehashing old wounds with either of you." She took several deep breaths as she forced her racing heart to slow down. "Timmy's still hasn't finished telling me the rest of his tale." Parker watched Jarod closely, clearly hoping that he would take the olive branch she was offering.

Parker's commanding voice and her domineering attitude as she questioned him over his supposed abandonment of her pushed his buttons. Again. She was the only one who knew where all of his buttons were. Rachel knew most of them but she didn't live long enough to find out the rest. Jarod understood what she was offering but seeing her there, her face demonstrating the struggle to rein in her formidable temper, reminded him of the last time they had a full-blown vicious drawn out fight.

His voice vibrating with his still volatile fury, Jarod began to dredge up the past. "Simulation 102 was meant to prevent a suicidal pilot from crashing into a structure. It didn't matter what it was, a bridge, a hangar, or," nails digging into his right palm, "a skyscraper."

"Jarod, what the hell are you talking about?" Parker questioned, her anger slowly ebbing.

Tim trained his startled eyes on the grim, thin-lipped scarred man. This wasn't in the plan.

Jarod ignored Tim's expression while still keeping his glare on the ex-Ice Queen. "Simulation 519 was stopping an extortionist from setting off a bomb laden vest worn by a defenseless victim."

A disconsolate expression formed on his face. "Those were the lies the Centre told me before I created them. And being the naïve innocent shithead that I was, I believed those people."

"Why are you telling me this now?" She didn't know where he was going with this but she felt it was very important to him.

Her question made him realize that these two were the only ones who could understand how he felt about being lied, deceived, and tricked by the Centre over the simulations he created for them. Jarod knew that Dr. Tushar tried to understand but he was incapable of knowing what it was like to believe that what you thought was doing good deeds was instead perpetrating evil on innocent beings.

"Because you asked me the last time we were at the Centre," he answered her in a grating low tone. "Remember now?"

Her tension rose a notch as Jarod brought back the turning point that changed her life forever. After a moment's silence, she hissed out, "I'll never forget that day." Parkers irritably flick a stray strand of hair away from her left eye as she returned Jarod's glare with one of hers.

Tim saw this as another opportune time to get Jarod to calm down as well as Miss Parker. He stood up and grabbing Jarod by the shoulder shook him to get his attention. "Jarod, that's enough. We can go over that some other time. I still haven't finished my tale to her," staring pointedly at the Pretender. "May I finish?"

Jarod wanted to continue dueling with Parker but, seeing Tim's stern gaze, he finally relented. Shrugging Tim's hands off his shoulders he told him, "Fine, go ahead." He puffed out a couple of heaving breaths and gave both Tim and Parker an almost apologetic look. "Let's get this over with."

Her body still wired from their clash, Parker seconded Jarod, "Please finish what you were going to say. I promise I'll keep my big trap shut." A small, but decidedly humorless grin flashed quickly on her lips as she backed away from her men and sat back down on her chair.

Jarod and Tim aped her and sat down too. Jarod, like Maureen, was still taut from his outburst and latest run in with Parker.

Tim seeing that both Jarod and Maureen were ready to pay attention to him again proceeded with his interrupted narrative. "After finding out about your fate, I didn't speak to Jarod for some time." He noticed Parker's raised eyebrows at another of his startling revelations but she kept her promise by not interrupting him. "During that period, Jarod sent me to the Endowment where I have been ever since."

Parker shifted uneasily in her chair, the other two noticing closely. She couldn't help but blurt out, dismay in her voice, "Jar institutionalized you?"

Emotions swirling on his face, Jarod shot out angrily, "No, I didn't. Tim needed help and the Endowment was what he needed with the type of injuries he had." Reining in his temper after Tim gave him another warning look, he added, "I'm his legal guardian and responsible for his well-being."

"Then what the hell is this Endowment that you two are babbling about and why is Timmy there?" Parker can feel that another confrontation was about to erupt between Jar and herself. This had to be avoided if they were going to hear the rest of Timmy's story before the sun rose up. Parker knew that Jar and she were insomniacs and it wouldn't surprise her that Timmy was too. It probably wouldn't faze the other two if all of them stayed up the entire night going over each other's life since the fall of the Centre.

Jarod warily watched Parker. He saw the same struggle in her that was going through him. Each of them was working hard to control their volatile tempers and be civil for Tim's sake. Therefore, the urge to yell or seeing anything she said as a challenge was ruthlessly locked away in the back of his mind as he listened to Tim's response.

Tim rubbed his hands together before responding. "The Paragon Endowment is a place where mentally and physically handicapped adults and children are treated for their disabilities. If their disabilities are too severe then they enrolled in the residential care program."

Parker initially couldn't form words for what was tossing about in her head. The only word that came to her suddenly frozen mind was, "Why?"

Tim peered over at Jarod signaling to the Pretender that he should explain to the suddenly speechless Maureen.

Jarod gave a curt grunt. He shifted in his position on the sofa then looking at Tim first before finally settling his good eye on Parker. "Tim needed the best treatment available after the damage Raines inflicted on him. I learned about the Paragon Endowment when I was doing background research for some of my medical pretends."

Parker turned to quiz Tim. "Did they treated you well?" If they didn't, they were going catch hell from her.

Tim nodded slowly, touched by her regard for him. "They've been very good to me. The doctors, therapists, and counselors were all helpful as I was being re…um, healed."

While Tim talked, Jarod mulled over what Parker said earlier during their clash. The hurt so evident in her eyes, which he didn't noticed while he was unloading on her, made him ponder his initial decision to cut off all ties between her, him, and Tim.

Another long simmering issue among many that he put on the to-do list. For now, the abandonment issue wasn't part of the plan.

"What kind of treatment did they put you through, Timmy?" demanded Parker. She couldn't shake the fear of her friend being abused by yet another powerful, malevolent entity.

Jarod answered for Tim. In a soft, dry voice, with his eye fixed on both of them, he told her, "He underwent occupational and physical therapy, language and speech development, traumatic brain injury treatment, and psychological services." The Pretender and the empath experienced once again the feeling of surprise coming from Parker. "Tim also underwent knee and hip replacement surgeries from all the crawling through the vents and crawlspaces in that hellhole."

"It was a price that I was glad to pay to stop the Centre," Tim soothed his tortured friend, patting Jarod's shoulder with his right hand. Jarod was still second guessing himself if it was still the right decision to have Tim placed there. "It was the right place for me and I didn't mind it at all."

Parker looked at Jar with some awe. The length he went to help Timmy said something about his character as well as his devotion to those he love. "You did all that for Timmy." It came out as a statement.

Tim and Jarod's attention were set on Parker at her declaration. Jarod's face creasing in puzzlement, informed her, "I would do more for little brother here," patting Tim affectionately, "if it were in my power. The only thing I really did of real import was to deposit a seven-figure gift to the Paragon people."

"What? Why?" Parker choked out. "What are leaving you leaving out?" Unconsciously, her childhood role of protector of both boys rose up. Her hands clenched into fists. She could feel her nails digging into her skin. "Tell me, Jar."

Instead of Jarod, it was Timmy's turn to answer her. "The Endowment said I was too old, unable to fit in with the rest of the population, and untreatable." The sullen look he put on display was the only visible indicator of the decades old feeling of being ignored, treated like crap, and regarded as a non-entity that Timmy harbored within him.

Jarod snorted contemptuously, "The _compassionate_ board of the Endowment changed their minds once I dangled the check in front of their greedy faces." He can still remember the intransigence of the board members as he pleaded in vain to have Tim admitted to their world-class treatment program. They stuck to their obstinate excuses until they saw the multi-million dollar check he threw onto their solid oak table.

The Pretender's cynicism of people, fostered at the Centre's School of Human Relations, deepened as these pillars of society quickly changed their minds. They didn't even have the good grace to feel ashamed at their sudden turnaround. Rather, their chairperson heaped insincere platitudes upon Jarod for his generosity. He got out of their presence as soon as the contract was signed since he couldn't stand the sight of those hypocrites. Jarod wasn't surprised, when he found out later, that they immediately cashed the check after he left their boardroom.

The hard expression on Jarod's face and the glum look on Timmy's face made Parker uneasy as well as angry. "Wasn't there another place that would have taken Timmy rather than this pathetic organization?" she wondered aloud to them.

Timmy responded by shaking his head. "No, Paragon is the best at what it does. Treating mentally and physically handicapped kids. I was the first adult they've taken in."

"But not the last," Jarod chimed in. "My gift was contingent on those hucksters starting an adult program." He looked at his watch. Almost an hour and a half had passed since Tim began his narrative. _We've barely started_. Jarod braced himself for a very long night. His meandering mind quickly focused after he heard what Tim told Maureen next. He waited for her reaction.

"Jarod got to name the program," Tim excitedly told her, his blue eyes gleaming at Miss Parker. In his excitement, he reached out and took her hand in his. "He named it the Catherine Jameson Adult Habilitation Program. I'm the first graduate of it."

Parker squeezed her empath friend's hand as she swung her head at Jarod upon Timmy's pronouncement. Brown eye met blue gray eyes. A tingle coursed through her body. "Momma would be honored, Jar," amazement shining in her eyes. "But why?"

"She rescued a lot of children, saving them from a fate worse than death," no hyperbole, Jarod mused to himself, "and Catherine deserves to be remembered. Not as another victim of the Centre but as someone who gave a damn and did something about it."

Her heart lurched at Jarod's words and buoyed by Timmy's physical comfort. Running a hand through her hair before shakily telling the men, "Growing up, all I hear was the same old refrain. The Parker Legacy. I must carry on the Parker Legacy." Despondency overwhelmed her. "Daddy would always remind me that I'm a Parker. A name I should be proud of."

Timmy gently sounded his disapproval. "That name is not something to be proud of." He revealed what both men had felt upon hearing that loathsome name. A name to be feared, hated, and despised for the evil it did to the innocents of the world. "It is something to be ashamed of, Maureen."

She saw the reproach in Timmy's bright blue eyes and something inside her snapped.

Maureen's quaking shoulders were the first tangible proof of what Timmy's words set off in her. Then came the tears, silently sliding down her high cheekbones, and, finally, the cries, bilious and bitter, came forth from her mouth.

The crimes and atrocities committed under the Parker name, something she brooded over even before Jar brought down the Centre, ate away at her like acid. With the trials of the Centre's venomous staff and what she learned in her prison library about the truth of her family, they destroyed whatever shreds of dignity and self-respect she labored to cling to.

Jarod and Timmy took in the spectacle of Miss Parker with sadness. Their souls ached for her and wished that they could take away her pain and the last several tormented decades of her life. Something that the men knew they had no power to do. Rather, they would be there for her when she needed them.

Like now.

Unbidden, Jarod rose from where he sat and knelt before the weeping Parker. With Timmy still by her other side, she felt her other hand being grasped by Jarod's artificial hand. Then what he said made her start crying again, only this time it was tears of hope. A start to making up for all the mistakes and bad choices she made in her life.

"Catherine Elaine Jameson." Jarod saw he had Maureen's undivided attention with the mention of her mother's name but she wouldn't look at either of them. Her eyes remain tightly shut. He tenderly said, "Jameson is the family that your mother sprang from. A family that Mr. Parker ensured that you never know about. To know what they were remembered for and the heritage for which they were renowned for."

Jar's words had questions stirring in her mind. Why no one from Momma's side of the family appeared at her funeral, why after Momma's supposed death every evidence of her side of the family disappeared as though they never existed in the first place, who was the Jameson's that caused Daddy to crush any inquisitiveness she might have exhibited about Momma's family…

"The Jameson Heritage is in you, Maureen," Jarod went on, gently pressing his right hand on her left upper arm. "Catherine's family had a heritage of helping others in need, caring for those who can't help themselves, and protecting the defenseless. What Mr. Parker defined as your mother's weakness was her strength." Gently tilting her face so she locked gazes with him, he forged ahead seeing burning curiosity in her reddened blue-gray eyes. "She was never weak. She was strong. Be proud that Catherine lived up to her family's traditions and she died being faithful to their values. You have it in you," his voice going husky, showing the depth of his feelings for Catherine and her striking daughter, "to continue the Jameson Heritage. I don't have the Inner Sense like you, Maureen, but I know she would be so proud if you continue the work of her family."

The flow of tears slowed to a stop as she listened avidly to what Jarod told her. Maureen's heart beating rapidly as Jar gently coaxed her to look at him. Seeing this handsome but tortured man looking at her with sympathy and concern made her realize once again that she love him no matter how much screaming and yelling, arguments and confrontations they might or will have.

Now, to hear him talk about her other family, a family that she can be proud to be a part of, respected, and loved left her overwhelm. Uncertainty in her voice, "Do you think the Jameson's would welcome me?"

A kind smile etched his face. "Of course they would." Then his smile quickly faded. "Once they know that you are alive." He handed her a handkerchief to wipe away her tears.

Timmy saw Maureen flinched in her chair and felt her painfully tightening her grip on him, as he watched and listened as Jarod informed her about the Jameson's believing her dead. Copying Jarod, he got up from the sofa and knelt next to her. He provided silent comfort and support for her and what will happen in the upcoming days

"They think I'm dead?" Her mind reeled at this. Even before Jarod opened his mouth again, she already knew why Momma's family thought she was gone forever. _The Centre._ She answered her own question. "The Centre." Absentmindedly, she wiped away her tears.

Jarod confirmed her statement. "Raines and Parker conceived it after your mother's supposed suicide." He had to watch what he said concerning the elevator incident since it was and will be the most traumatic event in Maureen's life.

"Why?" she demanded, shifting uncomfortably in her chair at the mention of the suicide. She felt Timmy's warm, comforting presence beside her as she asked Jarod about another Centre plan to ruin her life.

Rocking back on his haunches, never losing contact with her, his left hand still grasping hers, he responded. "They wanted to keep your distance from anyone who might threaten their plans for you. That included Catherine's family."

"Also you and Timmy," Maureen added in low voice.

Jarod shrugged, giving her the impression that he knew that it was something foreordained and beyond their control. What he said just bear out what she assumed was on his mind. "What was done was done. We can't change the past, Maureen." Standing up, hearing his knees snap, crackle, and pop, he thought wryly that it was another sign that he was not getting any younger.

_Moreover, _he pointed out to himself sadly_, my days in the field are coming to an end._

"What…," clearing her throat, "what is Momma's family like?"

Timmy put in, "There's no one directly related to you, Maureen." He ran his free hand across his upper lip, a ingrained habit he'd been trying to get rid of to no avail. "But your grandaunt had four children who, in turn, had children of their own." He chuckled. "You have sixteen distant cousins who, a few of them, have started their own family."

Parker sat there, astonished at this discovery about a completely new family of hers. A family that she knew nothing about and, now, craving to know more about.

Not speaking, Maureen pulled Timmy up from where he was kneeling and reaching out to seize Jarod, she gestured to them to go to the recently vacated sofa. Once they were all seated, sitting between her best friends, she asked the men, a bit apprehensively, "What are they like?" She needed the Jameson's to be a family that she can belong to, be proud of, and remember for something decent and good. The Parkers, from her own caustic first hand experience, was never any of that.

Tim opted to let Jarod take this question. When Jarod didn't immediately speak up, both he and Maureen looked at him wondering why their fellow Red File was so quiet.

She was holding his hand. Almost like the way Rachel used to. Jarod looked at their interlaced fingers. Realization sunk in that this was the first time they ever held hands as adults. He was on the emotional roller coaster again. Today was the most electrifying ride yet. Their "moments" and their verbal skirmishes. The role reversals and their tortured history. The turning points that seemed to be appearing more and more often.

"Jar?" Parker gently squeezed his work calloused hand, trying to get his attention. She savored the physical contact. Daddy and the Centre made sure that any physical affection towards her was kept to a minimum. Now, she can reveled in every embrace, touch, and…kiss, looking directly at Jarod.

Returning her squeeze with one of his own, he moved away from his inward focus. "The Jameson's are foreign aid workers, teachers, medical missionaries, philanthropists, and," placing his alloy-plastic left hand on top of his right hand and her left, "trustees of the Jameson Institute."

"The Jameson Institute?" Her instincts and hearing what her fellow Red Files said were clues that Momma's family was a bunch of do-gooders. _Not that there was anything wrong with that_, she amended with a moue.

Parker's animated look spurred Jarod on. "It's a small endowment based in Philadelphia. The Institute isn't a mountain of cash surrounded by people wanting a piece of it, as a commentator once described the Ford Endowment, but it's well off and pursuing the objective of its founder, Arthur Jameson." Seeing he had her undivided attention, he added, "You're great-grandfather. Strange, isn't it, that both of your great-grandfathers founded an organization devoted to their visions of humanity at the same time. One to pay forward for all the good fortune he received in his life by helping the less fortunate and the other to further the power and fortune of the Parkers." Jarod raised an eyebrow at the silent woman. "Fate? Destiny? What are the odds that they created their organizations on the very same day?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Maureen turned to Timmy seeking confirmation from the savant. "All true," answering her unspoken question. She shifted back to the Pretender.

"I don't care about the odds, Jar," she bluntly stated to him. "Anything else about the Jameson's?"

"The majority of them are here in the U.S. but there are others scattered about the world carrying on the work of the Jameson's and its heritage."

Maureen fell silent, absorbing the news and facts of her family. Her best friends respected her silence and waited for her next move. All the while, the three of them were still clasping each others hands.

When she finally spoke again, it wasn't about the Jameson's as the men expected. "Where are you staying and what are you doing now, Timmy?" She berated herself for being so self-absorbed with herself and her family's fate while poor Timmy was still trying to finish his narrative.

Timmy leaned in a bit towards her before answering. "I'm still at the Paragon Endowment. I'm staying there for the majority of the time but I come down here whenever Jarod has time off from work and stay with him."

"But what do you do there?" Maureen had an insatiable curiosity while growing up. It was smothered after Catherine's death by Daddy who didn't want an overly bright and intelligent girl poking around in places where the truth could be found and destroy the carefully crafted Potemkin village he erected around his "daughter". Now, it was coming back with a vengeance.

"Do there?" a puzzled Timmy asked her. He wasn't quite sure where she going with the question.

"I mean, do you hang out with the other residents, have a job, what?" Maureen demanded, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. "You did say that you graduated from their program."

Timmy nodded understanding at her. "I help out, when I'm allowed, with some of the residents; attending school; going out to the surrounding areas to soak in the scene; and watching movies and TV."

Maureen was intrigued and impressed. Letting go of Jarod's hand, she placed her left arm around Timmy's shoulders and softly squeezed it while clasping his hand with her other hand.

"I'm proud of you, Timmy. You've overcome a lot of obstacles." She heaved a deep sigh. "The least of it is me calling you all those horrid names."

The empath let go of her hand and gestured negatively with his freed left hand. "It isn't necessary, Maureen. I understood the pressures that you were under at the Centre."

Parker's gaze was remorseful as she rejected his attempt to excuse away her cruelty. Dropping her arm around his shoulders, "Don't make excuses for me, Timmy. I did you wrong." Gray-blue eyes locked gazes with sky-blue eyes as Parker finally spoke what Jarod wished for.

Maureen looked at the man in front of her. He stood by her even when Jarod walked away from her. Though she didn't know it at the time. Timmy was a true friend who championed her when no one else wanted to. Her eyes welled up as regret and shame washed over her. She tightened her grip on Timmy's hands.

"I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Timmy. Will you forgive me?" she asked as tears slowly began to work their way down her cheeks.

Jarod saw how badly upset she was. His instincts were screaming at him to embrace and tell her everything will be alright. But he didn't and couldn't. She needed to do this. _Hell_, he thought, _we all needed this_. So he quietly stayed put and watch something only Maureen and Tim could heal between themselves.

The sadness and contrition emanating from Parker almost overwhelmed Timmy's empathy. He hurriedly embraced her. It was awkward for both of them in their seated positions but neither were even aware of that nor care.

Cousin It, furball, and the other creative names that she hurled unthinkingly at him during his years at the Centre, reinforced the image among the Centre's employees that Parker was a heartless bitch who was always looking out for herself.

But he watched over her from the vents. He saw the pain that she so successfully masked that even she forgot what her real self was for decades. Timmy didn't forget. His empathic skills, which grew as his body matured and carefully hidden from Raines, gave him a clearer understanding of what she was going through and her long, trying struggle against the darkness that threatened to consume her.

Jarod was the other one who truly understood Parker and believed in her until that day in Chicago. Much to his dismay, Jarod walked away from her leaving only him to keep the faith for Miss Parker.

Patting her back, he rasped out in his distinctive voice, "I've forgiven you but," backing away from her but still grasping her shoulders and seeing her bloodshot eyes, "there's nothing to forgive."

"But what I did…" she interrupted, sniffling.

Timmy shook his close-cropped head and gave her a heartwarming smile. "It was the Centre's fault. This is me you're talking to, Maureen. You're just as much a victim as Jarod and me. They tried to turn you into something that you're not. So please don't apologize for something you had no control over."

Parker brushed back stray strands of her hair as she assimilated Timmy's words. What he said was absolution for her guilt-wracked conscience. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as horrible a monster as she imagined herself to be.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder. Parker tilted her head up to see Jarod's scarred face. "Are you going to be alright?"

His closeness comforted her as she finally healed one of her long putrefying wounds. Parker, with a throat constricted by so many emotions, choked out a reply. "Yes." Looking over at the care shown on Timmy's face, she felt her face break out in a wondering grin. "I will be."

* * *

**A/N:** I overcame writer's block to get this chapter finished just in time to celebrate (if you call it that) my one year anniversary of publishing this story. I never thought it would be this long, both in time and writing. Since I was also suffering from burnout, hazards of real life, and just enjoying reading excellent fanfic at this site and a couple of other sites, I might have made our three Red Files out of character. I hope not. The next chapter will be a continuation of their long weekend of secrets and lies and truths. I don't know when it'll be posted. I'm looking at a late summer posting but can't be sure due to my schedule. Just check the website or select story alert. Thank you for your patience and continuing to read this story of mine.

Special thanks to AJeff for helping out on a Pretender question. You rock!

Please read and review. Thanks.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 17

He was burning.

Jarod rubbed the spot on his cheek where she kissed him. The kiss was hours old but the heat of it lingered on.

Her kiss was unexpected. A surprise. Something that he was not emotionally prepared for.

The Pretender laid there in the darkness that encompassed the master bedroom. He glanced over at the clock radio. _Almost time_, he thought as he consciously continued to slide his fingers over where she kissed him.

_The kiss._ He swallowed hard. The second kiss she'd given him. Fire and ice raced through his body when he realized what she was doing. It happened so fast that he couldn't stop her. The stunned expression plastered on his face. The return look that Jarod could never erase from his mind. A look that promised…everything.

His stomach churned. Restless at where his heart was taking him, Jarod sat up and leaned back against the headboard. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble that he'll be shaving in the morning prickling his hand. She was melting him. In spite of all the precautions he took to protect himself from her.

Recalling the events in his office a few hours ago, he couldn't shake off how he felt sitting next to her, holding her hands, feeling the warmth pouring out of her body, hearing her voice. The flashes of the old Parker and the hints of the new Maureen.

This amalgam was intriguing. Unlike the Ice Queen who pulled her hands away from him in the aftermath of Carthis.

What he told her before was becoming truer every time he was in her presence. That little girl was coming back. Not slowly, but rapidly to him and to Tim. Jarod can already predict how the empath would react to that. With happiness, open arms, and no hesitations. For him, it would be more, um, complicated.

To allow her in as Tim urged him in the garage would mean living again, hoping again, and, most terrifying of all, loving again. Sighing aloud into the darkened room, he admitted to himself that he didn't know what to do. About her, about them. Maureen confused him. Something, painfully smiling to himself, that he was loathed to admit.

Feeling the empty space next to him was a stark reminder of what he lost and the pervasive loneliness that engulfed him.

Rachel.

He still wore their wedding rings on a chain around his neck. A reminder of their love, a love that was supposed to grow, become stronger as they gracefully aged together.

"That didn't happen," Jarod whispered into the too quiet room.

However, the possibility of Maureen filling that gaping hole, what he knew she was offering…

The phone rang.

Jarod looked over at the clock/radio. _On time, on target_. Picking up the cordless handset, feeling nostalgic, he decided to have some fun. "What."

* * *

Maureen sat by the window, stargazing off and on. She couldn't sleep. The ex-Centre operative was too keyed up after sitting through Timmy's narrative, her latest verbal sparring with Jarod, what she'd learned so far, and what she did afterward.

Sitting in that chair with her legs drawn up to her and chin resting on her knees, Parker was still a little dazed from the brazen kiss she placed on Jar's cheek.

The look on his face was unforgettable.

It wasn't supposed to happen. After apologizing and being forgiven by Timmy, Jarod declared that it was enough for that night. They didn't argue with him. Truthfully, she felt like she went several rounds with Daddy's bitch, Bridgette.

The three of them left the office after placing the furniture back to their original places. Once Jar turned off the lights, they walked down the hallway to Tim's room. After tucking in and saying good night to their empathic friend, they closed his bedroom door and proceeded to move down the hallway.

Stopping in front of her room, the Pretender and his former huntress looked at each other. So much happened today between them and both instinctively knew that more was coming. For a while, the couple stood together in silence. Until Jarod was the first to say good night, which Parker repeated automatically. Than to the surprise of both, Maureen did something unexpected. On sheer impulse, standing on tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek.

Maureen didn't know how her Jar would react to this sudden impulse of hers. Hell, she didn't know what possessed her to kiss him then and there. It just felt right. She wondered, looking out the window up at a star filled night sky, whether her Inner Sense was subconsciously prodding her that it was time to take another tiny step forward in their long-suffering and tortured relationship.

The shock, Jarod's rigid stance, and his startled look were something to behold. His expression caused Maureen to reveal what was in her heart and soul. Something that after decades beholden to Daddy, five years in prison, and her voyage of discovery from Ben's place to here, she finally wanted to show him, what she knew Jar desired in a different life, in a different time, before Chicago, long before he ever met a certain red-headed FBI profiler.

Her love, her devotion, and her longing for him. She was his.

If only Jarod wanted her.

She sighed and rubbed her temple. Parker knew that he saw what she revealed to him. She left him standing there in the hallway gaping at her as she walked into her room and shut the door behind her. Maureen leaned back against it, eyes closed, heart racing from what she just did. She stayed there until she got herself back under control.

Changing into her silk nightgown, she laid down on her bed for a period, all the while checking the clock on the nightstand impatiently waiting for 2:00am to come.

Recalling that impatience, Parker glanced over at the window ledge to make sure that her cell phone was still where she laid it. It was. She twisted in her chair to look at the time again.

She straightened up in her chair. It was time. Maureen picked up the cell phone and pressed Jar's home phone number. It was the first number she entered in her phone's address book.

"What?" was Jarod's prompt response.

Parker couldn't resist. A bemused smile broke out on her face. Jar was using her old trademark greeting. _So, Jar, you really are playing the game. _

"Friendship is a wonderful thing, isn't it, Jar? The people who enter your life to share their thoughts and feelings, giving you the support and encouragement that you need, and leaving an impact that lasts for a lifetime." Maureen rose gracefully from where she sat in the darkness and headed over to the door. Closer to him.

Jarod paused before responding. He was going to answer with a snappy imitation of a pissed off Parker awoken from her sleep. However, quickly looking over those years of wonder and terror, joy and sadness, and what both underwent, suddenly it was no longer fun. Tim's blunt advice started to sink in. Back then, the nightly phone calls were part of his futile attempts to free her from the clutches of the Centre and to keep alive their connection, no matter how tenuous, from breaking.

Now, the Centre was a bad memory and she, his first love, was a guest staying under his roof. Just a few yards away from him. A woman who was trying to reconnect with him.

He decided to answer her question before calling it quits forever on a game that no longer held any attraction to him. "Yes, don't take them for granted. You never know, they might be gone in an instant." Again, he flashback to their childish wanderings in the Centre.

A pang crossed her mind as Parker heard the hidden pain behind his words. "Jar," she began but was interrupted.

"Some games, Maureen, should not be played." His deep voice held a touch of melancholy.

"What kind of games?" she questioned, leaning a shoulder against the wood door. There was something in his voice that made her paid particular attention to whatever he was about to say.

"Games like the one we're playing now," Jarod answered, propping his pillow against his back.

"Do you really believe we're in a game?" Parker countered. Something was going on in that convoluted mind of Jar's.

A mirthless chuckle echoed in her ear. "We are," he confirmed. "You know, the one where I call you in the middle of the night giving a tantalizing clue to your mysterious past."

"Ah," she said, unconsciously twirling strands of her hair, "where I find out, yet again, my belonging to the mushroom people." She recalled the anger and hurt as she followed up on Jarod's leads while serving as an unhappy lackey of that hellhole.

"Mushroom people?" Jarod chuckled at her very apt description of her life in the Centre.

"Yeah, people who are kept in the dark and fed shit all the time," she blandly declared. However, she was privately happy to get a laugh out of him. His current status didn't lend itself to much laughter.

"That's my Parker. I always knew that you were one bright lady."

Maureen was irritated and it showed in her acerbic reply, "I'm so glad that you've finally noticed and know that I always am, Jar." A hiss. "Very bright." She paused before taking the plunge. "There is something that you should know about our favorite game." She slowly sank down to the floor, knees pulled up to her chest, elbows resting on her knees, and head resting against the door.

"Which game would that be, Parker?" slipping easily into his old bantering role as Jar shifted the phone into a more comfortable position.

"You run, I chase." She spoke so softly that Jarod could barely hear her. It was her turn to reveal a secret.

"What about it?" a small chuckle from Jarod. Remembering the narrow escapes and near misses at the hand of his ex-nemesis left him inordinately pleased with himself at one upping her constantly during that time.

Seeming as if to read his mind, Parker said slightly louder, "You must be patting yourself on the back for successfully eluding me all those times."

"I wouldn't go that far, Parker." It perturbed him on how she could read his mind. How she managed to do that was still a mystery. But being a Red File could be a very plausible reason. Plus, she did inherited Catherine's Inner Sense. "Much."

"Don't be so smug," she scolded. "It isn't becoming in you."

"Oh, and what is, Miss Parker," he shot back, becoming annoyed. Jarod shifted his position on the bed to sit Indian fashion as this call was turning into something else.

"Inquisitive. Analytical. Curious." _You're also kind, caring, and generous. A decent man in a world that no longer seems to value the traits you've embodied._ He would deny it but after hearing the extent he went to in helping Timmy, it only served as just another reminder of what attracted her and continued to attract her to Jarod.

"Hmm, I wonder why you chose those adjectives. Care to enlighten me, Parker?"

"Because, Genius, if you had apply those three you would have realized that I allowed you to escape." Finally, she thought. Her secret was finally out.

Jarod shook his head in denial. He was having a hard believing what Maureen just revealed. It couldn't be. "That isn't funny. Stop jerking my chain, Parker." Irritation was very evident in his tone. "You know damn well I outwitted you and those brainless neanderthals that call themselves sweepers."

Her back straightened. Parker could overlook most of Jarod's flaws but the one that really got under her craw was his cockiness. He just couldn't accept that someone could best him at anything. Even her.

"That's what you think, Jarod. If I fooled you, than I fooled Daddy and everyone else in the Centre."

Jarod was irked at what he was hearing. "You did not fool me." He emphasized and spoke each word slowly to her as though she was a child. The sheer gall of her claiming that she could have captured him anytime but chose not to. "At all."

"I sure as hell did, you pigheaded, stubborn jerk." _Ooh, that man._ Parker gritted her teeth. Why couldn't he credit her that she also had the smarts and the gumption to make an ass of the Centre? "You're in denial, Jar."

Jarod would have none of that. "Bullshit." Hanging around in his current profession, he picked up a much more colorful language. "I have a very hard time believing you, Parker," shot back the peeved Pretender. "After all, you've shown yourself to be such a dedicated Centre employee." Cruelly, he added, "I'm surprised that you weren't named Employee of the Month and got the reserve parking spot that goes with it."

"How dare you say that," she almost yelled into the phone, mindful of waking up Tim. She didn't want her friend to be roused from his slumber because of this conversation that fast turning into another of their screaming matches. "I was trapped there just as much as you and Tim. I had to survive in that fucking hellhole while you were outside gallivanting around pretending to be Don Quixote tilting at windmills and treating me like your Dulcinea."

He scrunched his eye at the pained tone in her voice. It was a low blow which he couldn't defend himself against. Jarod took a long breath and opened his eye. Looking at the darkened room, he spoke gently to her. "I'm sorry for that cheap shot. You didn't deserve it."

It was crazy, she told herself. They would be nice to each other one minute, then snarling the next. But digging up the plots, secrets, and lies that came with the Centre it was something she, Jarod, and Tim were thoroughly used to. What they were also used to was lashing out at each other for being so helpful. _It was true, _dispiritedness rippling through her heart_, that we really do hurt the ones we love the most._

A spent sigh poured forth from her. "Apology accepted." Standing up she faced the closed door, her free arm resting on it. What she was about to say next made her fearful of Jarod's response but she had to know.

"Do you trust me?" she tremulously whispered into the mouthpiece.

Silence.

Jolted by that shocking question, Jarod got off his bed. _Do you trust me?_ rang in his head. Her words belied the layers of unspoken emotions that he felt underneath that charged question.

Did he trust her? Really trust her?

His mind and heart seized up as he struggled to answer that simple but loaded question. Jarod looked back to the time when she unexpectedly shown up on his doorstep and altered his life.

Seeing her for the first time in over five years, when that last face to face encounter ended on such a tragic note, left him emotionally reeling. Initially, he couldn't and wouldn't trust her. Maureen Parker was one of the public faces of the Centre. An angry employee manipulated, twisted, and conned into someone so very alien to the girl he worshipped in his youth.

The silence drifted onward as Parker waited for his answer. She could hear background noises and the sound of his breathing but Jarod didn't say anything. Yet. "Jarod?" she prompted, anxious for his answer.

The scarred Pretender heard Maureen's voice, rich, melodious, tinged with trepidation and dread as she waited for him to reply. Jarod shuffled like a drunken partygoer on the carpeted floor next to the bed disconcerted. He wanted to answer her right away but couldn't. Pulled between his innocent boyhood yearning for her to his harrowing adulthood in the long shadow of the Centre and her relentless pursuit of him, he needed to find something, anything that can clue him to the answer both desired.

Something in the background caught his eye, making him stop. It was the dresser. The dresser that held the card Maureen got for him. Jarod remembered her words inscribed in it.

That was it, he thought excitedly. It was the answer he was looking for. Jarod raised the phone ready with his answer when abruptly he turned it off. Puffing his cheeks out, he put down the phone on the nightstand. Tiredly he rubbed his grainy eye. He owed it to her to tell her face-to-face not over the phone and the futile attempt to bring back a game that shouldn't be played anymore. Jarod left his room and down towards Parker's with his answer in mind.

Jarod hung up on her. The dial tone echoed in her ear. Maureen shook her head in denial. This wasn't the answer she was looking for. Numbly, she blindly put the phone, after several near misses, on top of the dresser. She shook her head disbelievingly at how callous Jar was in answering her question.

The stabbing hurt that she felt led Parker to fall back on her old reliable defense, anger. She was preparing the words that she was going to unleash on Jarod in the morning when there was a knock on the door.

Knowing that it couldn't be Timmy who was sleeping and unaware of what was transpiring between them, it could only be Jar. Whatever he was about to say, she was going to make sure that he knew how much he had hurt her. She reached out and opened the door.

The door opened almost immediately after he softly knocked on it. Knowing her too well, he quickly spoke up before Maureen got a word in. "I trust you."

Parker was rocked back on her feet by his somber declaration. Nettled, she asked him, "Are you sure?" The ire in her eyes was replaced by a cautious but hopeful look.

"Yes," he confirmed in a strong, assured voice.

"Then you finally accept that I could have caught you whenever I wanted to," she probed, wanting to be sure after his sharp rejection of her revelation.

Jarod paused. His ego was pricked but he finally admitted to her, "Yes, you could have." Grimacing at the suddenly thoughtful woman, he had to satisfy his burning curiosity. "Why didn't you?" he wanted to know.

Allowing the old bitterness that still dwelled within her to show in her voice, she finally revealed why she did what she did. "Tommy."

Seeing the shadows on her face and in her eyes, the guilt reared its ugly head again. This was another of those times when he wished he never pretended to be a matchmaker. Thomas would have been alive and Parker wouldn't have another layer of pain added to her already wounded psyche. He just wanted her to be happy. Why couldn't God, the fates, whoever controlled their destinies give her that?

"Thomas was going to take you away. But they put a stop to that."

Maureen jerkily nodded her head. "After they murdered Tommy, I rebelled. Daddy and his fellow bastards didn't know it and I never had any intention of advertising it to them." Her gaze became more intense. "Or you. Or Syd. Or Broots. Timmy might have suspected." Taking a deep breath she continued, "I was protecting you, Jar. Can you accept that, rather than nursing your hurt pride at finding out that you're not the only genius in the world?"

"Protecting me?" he repeated, very surprised at her disclosure.

"I couldn't," Maureen halted, the tumultuous emotions scattering her thoughts everywhere. "If I lost you, too," her throat thickening at that terrifying thought, "I…I don't think I could have gone on anymore." She waited, wondering at his reaction at this very revealing side of her.

She was afraid of losing him. _Why didn't she tell me earlier?_ Unthinkingly, he simmed what might have been if Parker had told him years earlier, they might have…. Jarod tore his mind away from that path.

"You could have told me, I've been taking care of myself ever since I escaped," he pointed out.

"I wanted you to be free. If I convince Daddy that I was this close to capturing you," holding up her right thumb and forefinger slightly apart, "then he wouldn't assign someone like Lyle, Cox, or White to replace me and actually having the bad luck to catch you."

Jarod's eye grew dark at what she was saying. "So you chose to sacrifice your freedom for mine?" _Don't say it…_

His fervent plea wasn't heeded. "Yes." Seeing the distraught look on his face, Maureen's lips curved into a sad smile. "The price was worth paying, Jar. Don't pity me or feel guilty about it. It was my choice."

It was the only least bad choice out of a whole series of progressively bad choices. She had to stay behind, give up any hope of escape to protect the people closest to her. "There was also Tim, Syd, Broots, and Debbie to think of. I had to protect them also. If the Centre ever knew how much I, and you," knowing how he felt about those four, "care about them…"

"They would have used it against us," Jarod said, finishing her sentence. Them and his family. The victims of the Sears Tower attack were the main reason why he declared all out war on the Centre and the Triumvirate but it was also the people that he loved and held dear. The ex-victim was angered at the normal life denied to them because of the long reach of the Centre.

Constantly on the run, never being able to put down roots, always looking over their shoulders, and prohibited from using their real names, making a mockery of a life. Not given a chance to define who they were, what they wanted to do, and whom they could associate, even love. Destroying the Centre gave them that chance. To succeed, to fail, they finally got the opportunity Jarod gave them.

She got him back from where he briefly drifted off to when Parker added, "I can't let them wind up in the Renewal Wing or, worse, being shipped off to Africa."

"I wouldn't let them do that," Jarod declared, reinforcing her position. "I would have helped you stop them."

Her eyes warmed a bit as she heard what he said. "I figure you would."

Parker's remark reminded him of what she did for all of them. "The price," he quickly but gently placed his right forefinger on her lips, shushing her, "you paid was too high. I wish you had told me. I would have done anything for you."

She closed her eyes as her heart raced upon hearing his compassion, as well as the certitude in his voice, of moving heaven and earth for her. Maureen opened her gray-blue eyes and spoke quietly to the most important man in her life, "I wouldn't have accepted your help, Jar. I was too wrapped up in the image of the long-suffering martyr." Jerking her shoulders, she gloomily added, "Must be my Catholic upbringing."

Jar was in agony. His voice was palpable with it. "I would have found a different way to bring down the Centre. You wouldn't have gone to prison, Parker."

Parker refused to go play the game of what-ifs. She did them too many times while in prison. Long before she and Jar were born, events were already set in motion that they had no control over. Looking in his eye, which saw too much grief and pain, she wouldn't let him punish himself over what happened to her after bringing down the Centre.

Shaking her head vigorously, "You didn't know, Jarod, and I wasn't in a giving mood. I refuse to let you beat yourself up over this. Understand?"

"But," he began. Maureen wouldn't let him finish.

"As you told me back then, there was too much of a paper trail for you to proclaim to Uncle Sam that I was innocent." Speaking in a brittle voice, she told him, "I'm a Parker, Jarod. We committed so many sins that we deserve to be punished."

_Oh, God, and you're not even a Parker,_ he lamented. She needed to know that the burden of the Parker name she borne since her birth would soon be over.

Not knowing what he was thinking, Maureen gave voice to what she felt upon seeing that redheaded FBI agent comforting Jarod on the end of her last day of her old life. "I saw how Rachel was with you. She was good for you." _I also wasn't ready to admit that I love you. The Centre's influence was too deep. They drove you away and I helped them._

There was nothing he could say to that. Torn by guilt over his long ago role in her imprisonment and just finding out what she did for the people she cared for, he was speechless. One clear thought came through loud and clear. Only Maureen could have shut him up.

Seeing the sad look in his eye, something that she memorized by heart growing up and watching on the DSAs, she made a spot decision. It was something that the voices of her Inner Sense seemed to push her to so she asked the Pretender, "Will you come inside? We can talk without waking up Timmy."

Her invitation made him freeze. This was definitely something he didn't plan on when he answered her phone call. That call sent him on tangents that both he and, looking at Maureen's expectant pose waiting for his answer, she didn't foresee. Like secrets that Parker possessed. Now, she was inviting him into her bedroom. Recalling the look she gave him, a look that shook him to the core, he wondered warily if this was another attempt on her part to have him open up to her.

Maureen took a step back, giving Jarod space to come in. Seeing his indecisiveness she said half-serious, half in jest, "I promise I won't hurt you."

Mentally squaring himself, he nodded at her. "Sure, why not?"

As they moved deeper into her bedroom, they were swiftly conscious of something that they didn't attention to while they were engrossed over the latest revelation from their mutual hellish past.

Their bodies.

Jarod in his urgency to tell Parker of his trust in her forgot to put on additional sleepwear so that when he knocked on her door, all he was wearing was his boxers.

Moreover, she was pouring on gasoline to a slowly building fire of mutual attraction, by wearing a sexy silk nightgown. One that was vaguely similar to her micro miniskirts in that it reached to the thighs. Barely.

Jarod found it hard to breathe. So did Maureen. The two of them were scantily clad and in a bedroom…

He swallowed hard, wondering how he was going to shore up his defenses in this intimate encounter. Parker was so hard to resist.

She looked over his well muscled body. Guilt assaulted her once again as Maureen tried to count the scars that crisscrossed his body. She couldn't do it as the count crept up. Then there was the ghastly stump that once was his left arm which left her sickened. She had to stop. It was just too painful.

But he still drew her in. Back when they were children, during the years she spent chasing him, and their almost turning point on Carthis. Unhesitatingly, Maureen walked up to the silent man, who stood silently transfixed as she approached him. She reached out and began to lightly trace some of his scars.

Jarod shivered as he felt the touch of her soft, delicate fingers on him as she ran them over the scars on his chest. What surprised him was that he was allowing her to do it. He closed his eye in silent pleasure.

Parker fantasized, vividly, about touching Jar ever since she changed from a girl into a woman. Decades of fantasies now realized. But it wasn't like the fantasies at all. They didn't take into account the livid scars that crisscrossed the front of his body to the rear where along with the scars were a couple of round puckered marks. Her face twisted into a concerned frown. Maureen knew what they were from her experience. Bullet wounds.

Her fantasies always depicted Jarod as a rugged, handsome man. _A whole man_, her memory recalled. Not a man who lost part of his arm and an eye. She looked unflinchingly at the horrid reminders of the crucible that Jarod endured at Chicago in the aftermath of the attack.

She touched the stump of what was left of Jarod's left arm. Feeling the roughened texture of his skin there. Here, the scars were more pronounced. Probably from the efforts of his medical team to affix his prosthetic arm to his shattered limb. Aside from the scars and the rest of the damage, she observed that he was still working out, glimpsing his six-pack abs and the general muscle tone of his body.

Parker looked into Jarod's eye, closed and not revealing what he must be feeling as she finished up her exploration of his near naked body.

Jarod could feel exactly where Maureen's fingers where as they moved slowly, lightly over his body. He called upon all of his self-control to prevent himself from grabbing her and…

He opened his eye and finally spoke to her, "Disturbing isn't it?" Shifting slightly away from her, he continued. "This is what Rachel had to put up with," unconsciously reaching up with his right hand tightly grasping their wedding rings.

Parker didn't have to say anything about the rings that hung from his neck. She knew what they were. She punished herself watching Rachel and Jarod exchanging them on their wedding video.

Even now he still loves her. Such devotion. Something that she wanted him to demonstrate towards her. "Love is blind, Jarod," she clarified. "She saw who and what you really are. Beyond the scars and the wounds, Jar. I would have done the same."

Jarod wanted to be sure, "Would you?"

Looking squarely into his curious brown eye, "For the man I love, yes." _Which you are_.

The honesty in her voice and the truth in her hypnotic blue-gray eyes removed any doubts from his mind. Jarod slowly raised his right hand, slow enough for Parker to see his intention. She didn't stop him.

Maureen saw him cautiously raise his hand towards her. It seemed to take forever but than his right hand rested on her cheek. A thrill charged through her body. She closed her eyes and instinctively leaned into the warmth of his hand.

Jarod gently cupped her cheek. Seeing her eyes closed, he felt her moving her head to make her cheek fit more snugly with his hand. Hearing her sigh in contentment, a tiny smile presented itself on his face. A long time fantasy just turned real.

The physical contacts that they have shared in the last few days were signs. Turning points for them. In the past with Daddy an ever-present stench hovering over her, Parker would have pulled away from him, time after time. But now, with Mr. Parker nothing but a long-dead nightmare, she stayed put. Jarod, in turn, stopped trying to protect himself from the pain of rejection.

His resolve to be cold and aloof towards Parker was corroding under the combined effects of Tim and Parker. Jarod was drained from trying to protect himself, emotionally, from her. The defenses he rapidly put up were just as rapidly being torn down. Nothing was working.

Tim's disapproval wasn't helping at all with his solid support for Maureen's reentering his life. With one shake of his head, Jarod decided he had to take a step back on to safer territory. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from her.

A fantasy came true as she rested her cheek on Jar's hand. A hug, his finger on her lips, and, now, his hand on her cheek. Jarod was showing his affection for her physically. She had to believe that no matter how much he was trying to pretend, pun intended, to be the cold, aloof distant figure, really a male version of the Centre's Miss Parker, Jar couldn't pull it off. It just wasn't in the makeup of Jar's character.

Feeling his hand gone from her cheek, Maureen opened her eyes to look into Jarod's stormy brown orb. _No_, she affirmed, _you could never be me during my Centre years._ _You're too generous, too kind, too caring to be what I once was._

Jarod saw that she was silent as she looked at him. She was thinking about something. What, he couldn't tell. "Parker?"

"Maureen," correcting him, as Parker stepped closer to him. Intimately closer to him.

Jarod acknowledged what she was trying to do but he was having none of it. "Maureen," conceding to her request as he slightly moved away from her, "Got something on your mind?"

Parker slowly expelled a breath, "No, Jar. More like someone on my mind." She stared straight at him. "Oh?" eyebrows rose as Jarod returned her stare.

Her brown hair fluttering slightly as Maureen nodded, "A person who was good and decent. Someone whom life didn't give any breaks at all." She stopped to look at her true love. Then finally, "A being who is better than me."

Jarod didn't want to read behind the lines of what her words imply. Instead, he corrected her. "You're just as good as anyone else, Maureen." He hoped his words would sink in and helped her self-esteem. Feeling tired from the long night, Jarod loosened his tense body, "It's time I get back to bed." He began moving to the door.

Maureen quickly let her shoulders sagged with disappointment with Jarod's back turn to her but quickly regained her straight posture as Jarod opened the door and turned to face her. "Good night, Jar," she said in a subdued voice.

Before Jarod closed the door, something in the way she stood there made him blurt out, "Friendship's can also be the beginning of something beautiful."

* * *

Timmy silently closed his bedroom door when he saw Jarod starting to emerge from Maureen's room.

He overheard their conversation. Listening to parts of their heartfelt exchange, he can only smile in hopes that both of them can move forward without taking any more backward steps.

"They're making progress," Faith's voice reinforced what he saw.

Looking at her ethereal visage, he gave out a low wolf whistle. "Wow."

"Timmy," she teasingly scolded him. Dressed in a white blouse and very short miniskirt that clung to her body and with stiletto heels, she was able to get away with both being sexy and innocent. Anyone who ever saw Miss Parker in her Centre persona could tell who Faith's role model was. "Jarod and Maureen, hmm?"

"Right," Tim always had a hard time concentrating when she was dressed in the outfit that was his personal favorite. "Back to Maureen and Jarod."

"You heard what he just told her about trusting her."

"It's a big step for Jarod," he soberly told Faith, getting back to their joint project.

Faith went silent. Both knew first hand about trusting people.

"The same goes for Maureen. Not since Thomas has she opened up." Faith couldn't force away the dismay she always developed whenever the subject of Thomas cropped up.

Watching over Jarod, seeing his ultimate sacrifice for her, Faith wanted to shout out to him that it was a mistake. Seeing the devastation on her sister's face when Parker came upon Thomas' corpse, it turned out to be an appallingly tragic mistake.

Jarod, in her opinion, made a bad decision to introduce Thomas into the dark world of the Centre with its lackeys and victims. Faith understood his reasoning, though she disagreed with it, but Thomas wasn't prepared for the horror and the darkness of that pit of corruption. As a true innocent, he paid the ultimate price for Jarod's mistake.

But the worst part was Maureen. They almost lost her. She shivered at how close it was.

Timmy's voice broke her out of her reflection of the past, "We just have to make sure that neither of them have a relapse." He sighed in frustration. Looking into her trusting blue eyes, "That's a tall order."

"We won't give up on them. Not since we're so close to the goal," she firmly stated.

"We won't," he echoed in agreement. Turning lighthearted for the moment, smiling at her, "Better tell Catherine to crank up her megaphone. Sometimes it's hard for Maureen to listen when she's goes into stubborn mode."

Faith chuckled, "I'll tell mom you told her that, you gorgeous hunk."

Laughing, he tossed back, "Don't leave out Ethan, your sexiness."

"Oh, Timmy," shaking her head, "What am I going to do with you." Loving affection poured out of her eyes.

"Anything," he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

Tossing her head in defeat, Faith moved up to Timmy. A hands-breath separated them. The frivolous banter went away when she put in, "A few more hours than we have to be there for Maureen."

Tim slowly sighed. He wasn't looking forward to telling his "sister" what the Centre did to Faith and Mr. Parker's role in it.

"It has to be done, Timmy. There's no way around it."

"I know. I just don't want to add to her misery," he said, unknowingly voicing Jarod's very thought.

"Just be there for her, honey. Like I will be." She added, hope shimmering in her voice, "After getting past this weekend, we can have that fresh start we all dreamed of."

"I hope so," Timmy fervently told her.

Faith confidently told him, "I know so."

* * *

**A/N: **I finally got the two Pretender movies. Wow, it's been six years since they came out! I have to say that Pretender 2001 was a letdown for me. It was more of a two-part episode rather than something that should have added to the show's bible. Oh, well, that's just me.

I want to say a belated thanks to my anonymous reviewers for their reviews. Always appreciated and I look forward to more.

This chapter was a struggle. I'm still not happy with it but with the demands on my time this is what came out.

Even with the drop off in hits, I still intend to finish this story. This is more of a creative writing exercise for me as well as writing a story in one of my all time favorite TV shows.

I just started writing the next chapter but don't know when I'll finish it. I hope to post it sometime in August. Keep an eye out for it.

Please read and review.

Thank you kindly. :D


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

**A/N1:** This chapter was the longest chapter I've ever written, over thirty pages. For ease of reading, I've divided this chapter into three chapters: 18, 19, and 20.

* * *

Parker's body convulsed with hate, rage, and fury. The part of her that was Catherine's marveled in horrible fascination at the depth of her darkness. Maureen never thought she was capable of harboring these kinds of emotions this strongly within her.

But they did.

Courtesy of the Centre and her "Daddy".

Thinking of that privileged title bestowed on a man who never earned or deserved it made her enraged again. The lies and deceits that he swaddled her in from the minute of her birth to her Herculean attempts at winning his affections to no avail left their marks on her psyche.

Even his parting words to her just before his supposed fatal jump from that airplane in the aftermath of Carthis and his shocking reappearance weeks later, didn't change his nature.

He talked the talk about loving her but never demonstrated his love for when she needed it. Not even after Momma's "suicide", Faith's death, or Tommy's murder.

Maureen felt Jarod's eye boring into her back. She knew he was silently watching her, ready to comfort her, deeply concerned about her reaction to the latest coverups of the Centre, wanting to treat the cuts on her fingers.

She ignored him as well as the slow drops of blood coming off her fingers. Right now, she just needed to glare at the son of a bitch who destroyed her life and whom she ruined her life trying to please him and seeking his love and approval.

Maureen looked at the two fragments of the picture that she tore in half in her fury when she stormed into her bedroom and grabbing the picture frame that held them, throwing it on the floor in a spastic fury then ignoring the sharp edges of the broken glass picking up the picture and ripping it straight down the middle.

A symbolic separation.

Nothing, absolutely goddamn nothing, she wordlessly shouted to herself. She got nothing from him except secrets, hidden agendas, falsehoods, and, ultimately, a name that she grew up believing to be hers. A name she was resigned to bear as her own personal cross.

Until today.

Today, she would no longer allow anyone to call her Miss Parker or in Jarod's case, Parker.

She slowly let the half of the picture that was of Mr. Parker go to see it drifting down to the floor. No more would she call him Daddy. _Damn you, Mr. Parker. Damn you to hell. _

Daddy. That title belonged to another man. Another dead man who had his own secrets that he took to the grave. A man she will never know. Forever a stranger wrapped in an enigma.

Maureen finally looked up from where she leaned against the bed, the hate still burning fiercely inside her but gradually overwhelmed by the throbbing pain in her fingers. Holding up her two hands, Maureen's silent gesture sent Jarod hurrying over to her from his protective watch.

No words needed to be spoken between these two. Jarod knelt down before her and immediately opened the field surgical kit and began tending to her wounds. Gently, he disinfected her cut fingers then put bandages over the wounds.

Finished, the Pretender held onto her hands slightly longer than was needed. His eye revealed his distress. Before he could even ask her how she was, Maureen shakily shook her head, tried but failed to give him a smile.

The Centre's secrets that Timmy and Jarod exposed to her today left her reeling, sickened, and shocked. Her dignity and self-respect, which she struggled to hold on to in the face of her criminal conviction, prison sentence, and close identification with the Centre, were gone.

Gone.

The once dreaded Centre "Ice Queen" firmly pulled her hands away from Jarod. _How could he stand touching me, a blind stupid ignorant fool, _she thought in a torrent of self-recrimination and self-hate.

Jarod stood up, knees creaking, staring down at her worriedly. The revelations were a hammer blow. The ugliest ones that he and Tim waited for last finally being told to this woman scourged by life. He wanted to say something, anything but words couldn't and wouldn't comfort Maureen, not after what she heard from him and Tim.

The horrible things done to Catherine and Faith. Baby Parker's shocking parentage. How terrifyingly close the Parker Legacy came to fruition. The identity of her real father.

Maureen slowly stood up from where she sat on the bed and walked over to the picture of her and Momma. Picking it up, she sat down by the chair and took a long hard look at her mother.

"Momma," rasped out Parker as tears of grief streaked down her haggard face as she flashed back to earlier in the day.

* * *

After watching Jarod's departing back leave her bedroom, Miss Parker tried to fall asleep. But it was futile. In fits and starts, she would nod off only to be awakened again by the tantalizing words that Jarod uttered as they parted.

Did he meant what he said or was she reading too much into it? Maureen knew herself enough and her desire for him to figure out that she would grasp at the obvious meaning. Jarod was ready to move forward.

In the dark, she shook her head. It was too easy to fall for that. Jarod's past didn't allow for anything effortless. No, Parker mused, rolling onto her side, she'll have to let this play out at his pace, not hers.

Her eyes closed with that thought lingering in her mind.

* * *

Something woke her up. Blinking away her sleepiness, Parker yawned and stretched her body before getting up and sitting on the side of her bed.

What was it, she wondered, swallowing another yawn. Maureen glanced at the clock. 6:33am. A small frown appeared as she recalled Jarod telling her that he always got up at 5am for his morning workout, followed by breakfast.

There weren't any sounds of breakfast being made. Of course, she reasoned, the door could have muffled any sounds coming from the kitchen.

Doing her best to ignore her uneasiness, the tall brunette proceeded to get herself ready for the day.

Parker stopped in the entryway to the kitchen. The uneasiness rose a notch as she took in the view of two eerily silent Red Files sitting at the kitchen table. Jarod, she observed, was slowly sipping a cup of coffee while Timmy was playing half-heartedly with a barely eaten danish.

"What got you two so glum?" Parker asked as she strode into the kitchen, hiding her jitters. Seeing the danishes sitting in the middle of the table, she realized that the two men went out and brought them back rather than cook breakfast. That would have accounted for the silence. But it didn't answer why they were in such a grim mood.

So lost in their thoughts that Maureen's voice was like a loud explosion. Both Jarod and Timmy jerked their heads up to look at Parker.

Jarod was the first to greet her with a subdued, "Morning." Tim followed with his own greeting which was slightly warmer than the Pretender's.

"Well?" Parker demanded, displeased that the other two fell back to brooding over their meager breakfast.

Tim and Jarod traded looks before the empath spoke up. "There are still a lot more truths to be revealed. Ugly truths."

Her interest was piqued as well as that feeling of dread that began stirring again. "How ugly?" she gingerly asked as she took the chair between them and sat down.

Not giving any hint of what went on between them in Maureen's bedroom, Jarod, with an edge in his voice, "As ugly as the Centre."

"That bad, eh?" she dryly remarked upon hearing Jarod's grim pronouncement. With that, Parker lost all interest in eating breakfast except for coffee. She still needed her fix no matter how bad things would get.

Getting up from her chair, she said, "Need a refill, Jar?" She didn't bother asking Timmy since she saw him drinking a can of those energy drinks that were all the rage right now.

"I'm fine, thanks," Jarod answered, watching her with that brown eye of his. Taking a big mouthful of coffee, he remembered lying awake in his bed after leaving Maureen. He never did went back to sleep with the feelings she churned up in him with her touch. A fantastic touch that was more powerful than he dreamt of in his sometimes torrid dreams of them together.

Turning around with her cup of coffee in hand, Maureen noticed the way Jarod was observing her. She gave him a nod hoping for another sign from him that last night was really a step forward for the both of them.

Jarod gave it to her. He nodded right back and, if she wasn't imagining things, it looked like he was giving her a smile. She wanted to believe that he did.

Walking back to where the men sat, reclaiming her chair, Parker carefully sipped the hot coffee. Meditatively, she mulled over the degree of the horrible secrets that, looking at her best friends who were again lost in their own thoughts, both Jarod and Timmy were going to spill to her.

After taking after another sip of her coffee, Parker gave in to her natural impatience, "When do we start?"

Timmy stopped playing around with his danish and told her, "Whenever you're ready, Maureen."

Jarod followed up, "There's no need to rush things, Maureen. Finish your coffee," and pointing towards the pastries arrayed on the table, "and get some food into you."

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry since the two of you are acting like brothers grim. You've got my interest and there's no time like the present." Parker stood up and drained the rest of her coffee. Putting the empty cup down, she glanced down at the still seated men. "Well?"

Carefully hiding their anxiety, Jarod and Tim both got up from their chairs. Taking charge, Jarod told the others, "Same place as last night."

All three left the kitchen and went into Jarod's office. Jarod and Maureen sat down on the sofa. Expecting their empath friend to sit down with them, both took notice when Tim continued to stand.

"Jarod," Tim said in his inimitable voice, "I want to tell her about Faith."

The Pretender quirked his eyebrow at Tim's request. Their agreed upon plan was for him to tell the secrets to Parker but now to his surprise Tim was changing it. He was slightly annoyed but since it wasn't going to affect the overall scheme of things, he let it slide. Sighing, he gesticulated to Tim, "Go ahead."

"Thanks," Tim told him. But before he began, ominously he went over to Jarod's desk, picked up the box of Kleenex that was there, and placed it on the coffee table before Maureen.

Seeing the tissues placed before her, Maureen didn't like what it implied. Whatever Timmy was about to tell her was going to be awful.

Without preamble, Timmy began to tell the uneasy woman what befell her adoptive sister. "Faith was being treated by the Centre for her childhood leukemia." It was what all three believed when they were with her. "Or so they say." He stopped there as he saw Parker drew in several shuddering breaths. Seeing her shakily nodding to continue, he resumed his narrative.

"After Catherine's supposed suicide, Mr. Parker quit masquerading as a caring father for Faith." He froze as he saw the spectral Faith appeared behind the sofa where his friends sat.

She gave him a comforting smile. "You're doing fine," Faith told him encouragingly.

Jarod tightened his jaw muscles as he examined a stock-still Tim. _What was wrong with him?_

Parker wondered the same thing. It wasn't like him to act like this. "Timmy," she spoke concernedly for both her and Jar, "what's wrong?"

Timmy blinked his eyes as he moved his gaze away from his love to Parker. "Just got

distracted," he assured her. "Sorry."

Maureen understood. "I'm in no hurry so you don't have to rush anything for my sake." She then looked over at Jar.

The look that they communicated to each other was something entirely different from the ones they'd exchanged since she showed up on his doorsteps. It was created from the seed that was planted last night in her bedroom. Somehow, in some way, the turning points that Jarod started spouting on Carthis to her actually happened in her bedroom. There were turning points and then there were _turning points._

What they saw in each other was a look of trust. No deceptions, no lies, and no secrets between them.

Timmy cleared his voice, which broke their gaze to return their attention on him. He resumed his tale. "He no longer cared for someone who wasn't going to advance his interests within the Centre or with the Triumvirate."

Maureen interrupted him, "But I overheard how Daddy supported Faith when he argued with Raines over her." Twisting her body to face the Pretender, "You were there, too, Jar. You heard him also."

Jarod slowly confirmed what she said. "Yes, I heard him." Looking into those blue gray eyes of hers, seeing the desire to prove that "Daddy" had some good in him, Jarod sadly destroyed the faint hope that still lurked in her heart. "It was an act put on by him."

Parker's face clearly expressed her confusion. "Why? What was the point?"

"Remember the time frame, Maureen," Timmy reminded her, picking up the explanation. He patiently waited until she shifted her attention back to him again. "This was right after your mother's suicide. Faith was untouchable while Catherine was alive."

"What happened to her," Parker demanded as her body tensed up. She snapped her head over to look at Jarod who took her left hand in his right hand.

Jarod looked at her with an intensity that Parker found comforting. Before Timmy answered her, Jar interjected, "We're here for you." Squeezing her hand, he added, "No matter what, you're not alone." He turned his back towards Tim without waiting to see if she had anything to say to him.

Parker was grateful for Jar's unstinting support as she copied his focus of attention. "Keep going, Timmy," she ordered to her empathic friend. "What did those two did to my sister?"

Expelling a breath that he didn't know he was holding, Timmy proceeded, "With the only obstacle to their goals finally gone, they decided that Faith," here Tim stopped as grief surged through him. Blinking back his suddenly watery eyes, agony tingeing his words he told the riveted brunette, "Faith was deemed useless and a Disposal Directive was issued on her."

"No, he did cared about her," Parker spit out insistently, letting go of Jarod's hand, desperate to deny what Timmy just uttered. "Faith was his daughter, for God's sake. He wouldn't…" She halted as her body collapsed in on itself while recalling Daddy offering her to Jarod during the raid on the Centre. _He would_. Then her eyes copied Timmy's. Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes and began streaming down her cheeks.

Jarod immediately wrapped his arms around her. This act of support forced the Pretender to move closer to her. He didn't care about the deeper ramifications of this act because right now Maureen was hurting just like the last time he comforted her immediately after Faith's death.

Faith watched, unable to console the upset woman. She raked one hand agitatedly through her long blond hair. She couldn't be seen or heard by either Maureen or Jarod. Only Timmy was allowed that. It was part of her agreement with the Powers That Be. Now, upset, she wanted to rip up that agreement and rush over to lend her support to her sister.

The spectral Faith hugged herself steeling herself for the rest of her ending. Shakily, she told Timmy, "Give her a moment then please finish this. I don't think any of us can take this much longer."

Timmy assented to her heartfelt plea. This was bad just as he feared. Stepping forward, he stooped down in front of her. Consciously aware of Jarod, acting as Maureen's protector, watching him, he got several tissues and pressed it into her hands while keeping some for himself.

"Thank you," whispered a distraught Miss Parker. She couldn't shake the memories of reliving Faith's painful death. Of not being there for her all the time, how devastated she was upon Faith's death, and the strength she drew from a supportive Jarod.

Like right now, she suddenly realized. She could feel Jarod's arm on her, just as he did for her back then.

After wiping her eyes and rubbing her nose with the tissues, she called out to Timmy, "What was the method?" There was a sense of disbelief that Daddy was so callous as to kill off a dying girl. His own daughter. She'll never understand him and she was glad that she did because if she did understood him what did that tell her about herself?

Straightening up again, Timmy softly spoke, "You remember that the drugs they were giving Faith were experimental, right?" Seeing the narrowing of Parker's eyes as affirmation, he gravely went on, "They were working for her but when the Disposal Directive was issued, placebos were put in place of the drugs."

Jarod felt her tense up. He waited for the inevitable explosion from Maureen but when it didn't happen, he glanced at her, worried over what was going inside her mind.

_They murdered her. Like Momma, like Tommy._ How much more can she take? Without hesitation, she reached out with her hands and awkwardly laid them on top of Jarod's, who was still wrapping his arms about her. She needed his physical contact; otherwise, she would have crumpled to the floor.

"I reached out to her," Parker said with a tremor in her voice, recalling Faith's good-naturedness. "I loved her and I wanted her to live," cried out Parker, shaking her head wildly, clinging tightly to a worried Pretender. "Faith was not useless! God damn them to hell!" she raged, anger and grief mingling within her heart. Heaving with sobs, she turned around in Jarod arms and his enfolding arms and poured out her agony.

Timmy joined in her loss. Silent tear tracks continue to slowly slide down his cheeks. Looking at Faith, he wasn't surprised to see her crying also. Despite knowing the truth, the retelling of it still brought up the old hurt.

No words can comfort Maureen now, Jarod recalled from bitter first hand experience. So, he just held her tightly as she cried onto his chest. Alternating between gentle rubs and soft pats on her back, he also slowly rocked her, doing what he can to take away her grief.

A distant look came over Jarod's face as he went back to the similar situation in their childhood when he tried to console Maureen as she grieved over losing Faith back then. He missed her just as much as Parker and Tim did. He couldn't display his sense of loss as openly as Maureen did then. He had to be strong for her, giving her the comfort and succor that she needed in that turbulent period of her life.

The stabbing grief in her heart changed to a dull throbbing ache as the tears slowly came to a halt. Maureen could feel Jar's hands on her back, one warm and soft, the other stiff and cold, working to assuage her loss.

Nose clogged and her constricted throat evident signs of her spent grief, she reluctantly pulled herself away from Jarod. "Give me the rest, Timmy," demanded Parker wiping her tears away with the tissues he gave her earlier.

"The reason you heard Mr. Parker and Raines putting on that compassionate charade was they didn't know who Catherine's allies and spies were and what positions of power they held," Timmy finished.

Parker was baffled and it showed when she raggedly asked, "What does that matter? They were the nuts in charge of that nuthouse. Everyone reported to them."

Jarod couldn't help but smile at her imaginative description of the Parker brothers. Her talent for biting sarcasm was still intact.

"No, not at that time," Tim gently corrected her. Moving a few steps, indicating that he was still stress over Faith's death, he continued. "They weren't fully in control since Catherine had her own power base in the Centre. Mr. Parker and Raines couldn't move forward on some of their more urgent and ethically challenged projects without her spies informing her and putting a stop to them."

"What did they do once Momma was out of the equation?"

"They began a purge of Centre personnel in order to consolidate their grip on the Centre. It took some time to get rid of Catherine's people. Everyone was swept up and was affected by it." Loosening his tense body, he continued to relate to Parker what her "family" did. "Your mother's allies and informants were either fired, transferred, resigned, or met untimely accidents. This included," seeing Faith standing there red-eyed but smiling supportively at him to wrap it up, "Faith, Michelle, Jacob, Ben, Fenigor, Edna, no one was left unscathed. Even us." Timmy ran a forearm across his sweaty forehead. "When they finally finished their purge, they were fully in control of the Centre and God help those who thought otherwise."

Maureen was listening but was still trying to get her hands figuratively around what Timmy revealed to her. She relived some of those chaotic moments after Momma's supposed death. Of being shipped off to Europe, strange persons meeting with Daddy late at night at their home, and Mrs. Raines suddenly dropping out of sight. "Is that it?" she woodenly asked.

"Yes," he answered. Looking over at his friends and Faith, Timmy was relieved that his tale of woe has ended.

Faith saw her significant other heading over to one of the chairs and waited until he plopped down tiredly into it. Dressed in her white nightgown, she leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Thank you, Timmy. You did well."

Timmy couldn't say anything aloud for fear of his secret being discovered. A twinge of guilt and shame for hiding Faith's ethereal existence from Jarod and Maureen. He did promise that there would be no more secrets between the three of them.

Faith understood what Timmy was thinking. She reached out to him to assuage his guilt. "I promised the PTB. It was the only way for me to watch over the three of you. I was fortunate that they," gesturing to the still cuddled couple, "were able to catch glimpses of me. We'll all be together one day and then I'll tell Jarod and Maureen why I couldn't show myself to them." She laid her right hand just above his left hand as she continued, "It's not your fault, Timmy and it's not your responsibility."

Sneaking a peek over at Jarod and his "sister", he saw they were engrossed in a discussion so they weren't paying him any attention. Therefore, he carefully twisted his head to speak in a low voice, "You're welcome and thanks for the advice."

Faith gave him a beaming smile in return. The two of them then turned their silent regard on their two best friends.

* * *

**A/N2:** Sorry for the delay but I've had things going in my life that prevented me from posting in August. I also took a vacation with my friends to Japan that's been planned for over three years. A once in a lifetime trip that took precedent over this.

The next two chapters will be posted soon once I'm done editing and revising. In the meantime, I've posted the first quarter of chapter 18 for your reading pleasure.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

**A/N1:** Chapter 19 is long. There are some adult themes but nongraphic. This is a T rated chapter. You've been warned. With this chapter, 2/3 of my original Chapter 18 is now published.

* * *

Her eyes were red and her nose, Jarod observed, was runny. She stopped crying for now but he knew that it was only the beginning. Gently, he gave her a tender squeeze, "Do you want some more tissues?" 

"No, I'm fine," she informed him, when in fact she was far from it. She didn't let on though because she didn't want him to be motherhenning her. However, it felt so good having his arm surrounding her and resting her head on his shoulder. She felt safe in his embrace and not having to worry about anyone or anything. So long as Jar was there, she could draw strength from him and relax her guard.

Jarod was stroking his fingers through her hair for the first time in his life. Hair that was lighter than the black that he secretly favored. He bit his lips in mild dismay recalling the pleasure and amazement he always felt when it was Rachel's hair he was playing with. He felt like he was betraying her. His dismay however didn't stop his fingers from continuing to do what they were doing.

How many times did he dreamed, fantasized, really of this? Parker safe and snug in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, together…

Jarod shook his head. Watching her, he sternly told himself that this was not going to happen. It was never meant to be. Always there was someone or something that prevented it from happening. However, that spark of hope for them never died. In fact, it was glowing a little brighter each day, ever since she stepped into his life once again. He stopped twirling tendrils of her alluring hair and spoke just gently enough to get her attention, "If you're willing, we can go on to the next secret."

She didn't mind the way Jarod was running his fingers through her hair. Her heart fluttered at his action. It was an intimate act between them she realized. In the midst of learning more Centre atrocities, here they were acting like a couple drawn closer together due to those very same tragedies. She didn't want to leave his protection, not if it was another sordid and sick revelation like Faith was. The proud defiant woman of the Centre would've blanched at what the current incarnation of her was willing to contemplate. Controlling her need for him, Maureen breathed out wearily, "How many tissues do I need for this one?"

The Pretender felt a wry grin creased his face. In earnest, he said, "I don't know. I think ten might do."

She groaned to herself. Sometimes, like the innocent Pretender of the past, he still took some things literally. Maureen gently poked him in the ribs. "I didn't mean it literally, Jar."

Grunting, he regretfully loosened his hold on her. He was already starting to miss the feel of her. Shifting his position on the sofa, he asked her again, "Are you ready?"

"No," she spit out, "but I want to learn the truth, all of it." Hiding her disappointment at not having Jar holding her, she sat up a little straighter. Showing her best friends a wearied face, she emphatically told them, "I am so sick of secrets."

Timmy's eyes shown with his understanding and when Parker looked into Jarod's eye, it didn't revealed what he was feeling when he heard her proclamation. Both men knew they were putting off the unveiling of the ugliest secrets until the end.

Jarod felt the same way as Tim but he was better at not expressing his feelings than his empathic friend. In his chosen profession, having a poker face was the difference between life and death.

Holding a steady gaze on her, Jarod saw one tear that she missed with her tissues. He reached out and gently swiped it away from her cheek. His fingers stayed on her cheek even after the tear was gone. Her skin was so soft just like last night. Jarod cheek quiver once as he wanted to give in to temptation and explore the rest of her face. He hesitantly pulled his hand away. Maureen was still that woman who made him listen to his heart rather than his brain.

Parker felt that lingering touch leave her. _Don't,_ she silently commanded. She craved it again as well as his enfolding arms. But she stayed where she was, just raising one questioning eyebrow at him.

Seeing that motion of hers, Jarod moved onto the next dark secret that was coming into the light. "This one is…convoluted and complicated. Just thinking about it can give you a headache among other things."

Now her curiosity was piqued. "Just start from the beginning. We'll go from there."

"Alright." Making sure that Tim was included; Jarod settled into a comfortable position and began. "In the beginning there were the scrolls and the isle named Carthis where they laid hidden for centuries. Until one dark night a man by the name of Parker found them." Jarod reached out to hold onto her hand. "The words inscribed on the scrolls had power. Power that changed this man into something that was dark and terrible," his voice trailed off briefly before resuming his narrative. "So seductive were the scrolls that this man set fire to a place he once called home. Home where a family he once loved he murdered all in the name of what the scrolls promised him."

Maureen shuddered remembering the very first atrocity committed by the Parker family. A atrocity committed on its own family.

Timmy's body gave evidence of his revulsion at Jarod's retelling of the Parker's family history. Forced to use his gift on the items recovered by Maureen during the Carthis adventure, he felt the ugliness that clung to them and the sheer pain and horror of the innocent lives that were consumed by the downright avariciousness of people for the promise of power held by the scrolls. Nightmares of what happened on Carthis still plagued him now. Not as many as it were back then, but they still had the power to make him wake up screaming in horror.

"So began the legacy of the Parker family. A legacy tainted by the blood of innocents." Jarod stopped to regain control of his emotions. A woman and her family betrayed by her husband and by their father. Jarod still could not fathom the allure of power that the scrolls promised that drove a man to commit such an unthinkable act.

Maureen remembered to blink her eyes. Jarod's voice was hypnotic. The way he manipulated his voice made the crime that much more savage, that more nightmarish. She was glad that they were holding hands. She needed it as she braced for more vile information about her family's legacy.

The Parker Legacy, which Daddy kept espousing to anyone and everyone within hearing range, she tuned out believing it to be the equivalent of an old fart's babblings. Now, it seemed Jarod was saying that it was something totally else.

"What a horrible way for a legacy to start," Maureen observed sadly while softly pressing their hands again.

"Yeah," Jarod replied in turn. "It was horrible." The room fell silent as three people and their ethereal friend contemplated how all their lives became entangled in the oppressive Parker Legacy.

Tim was the first to shake himself out of their reverie. He glanced at Faith who stared right back at him. He was about to spur Jarod on with the telling of Parker Legacy when Faith held up her hand and said, "Give them a moment, Timmy."

Looking over at the couple who were still holding hands, Tim saw what Faith saw. The Pretender and his ex-huntress were sitting next to each other. They were almost like conjoined twins in the nonexistent space between them.

"Progress."

Timmy grunted in agreement at Faith's comment. He was cautiously optimistic. He hoped that his advice was heeded by Jarod. Right now and last night it seemed that Jarod was indeed paying attention to him.

Jarod felt the heat given off by Maureen's body next to him. It was almost liked she was molded to him. A perfect fit. Something that he only felt once before with Rachel.

"Jarod?" started Maureen. It was nice to have him right by her, touching her, holding her. Very nice. However, she wanted to know what the hell the Parker Legacy was and her cursed role in it.

Her words got him back to the here and now. Jarod resumed where he left off, vividly conscious of how closed they've gotten, physically at least. "Fleeing to America, after taking the life of one more innocent person, a clergyman, he crafted a new identity for himself and began another family."

"As well as the creation of the Centre," Maureen grimly put in. Daddy always made sure she could recite the important dates in the Centre's history and the Parker's involvement with it while she was a child. The only recital he ever gave a damn about. By now, she made the connection between the deaths on Carthis and the founding of the Centre. Just a very short time apart.

Forgoing the storyteller voice as he figured he probably pushed his limit with Maureen's natural impatience, he moved ahead with the rest of this secret in a crisp manner. "One of the first things it got involved in, after its founding, was eugenics."

"Eugenics?" Parker questioned. Her voice was laced with curiosity. Like most average people, she had a vague understanding of it. "Wasn't it something to do with genetics?"

"Partly. Eugenics was a philosophy very popular in the early twentieth century," Jarod explained. "It was about improving the human race through selective breeding."

Parker found herself holding her breath. "Who were they breeding?" She tightened her grip on Jar's hands. She dreaded where her thoughts were heading.

"People who possessed traits that the scrolls mentioned. At least that was what was inferred in the fragments of Mr. Parker's personal archives. Tim and I can only speculate."

Tim added, "The archives were intact but the earliest days of the Centre were haphazardly recorded. It didn't become as obsessive as it was during our years there when they captured every damn thing for posterity via DSAs."

Parker blinked. It was the first time she ever heard Timmy uttered a profanity. Speaking of the scrolls, archives, and of the past brought forth a question she'd been obsessing over with ever since she found out about them and the loathsome lengths people were willing to go to take possession of them. "What did Daddy tell you about the scrolls?" she probed Jarod.

"He said nothing about them. Even though I asked him about them, he refused to tell me. Not even to the Israelis." Jarod was present at all of the sessions when Mr. Parker was interrogated by Shin Bet and Mossad. The methods they used got Lyle, Raines, and Mr. Parker to spill the beans on everything they knew about the Centre, their ties to terrorists and organized crime, among other dirty laundry but the one place where they failed was Mr. Parker's refusal to divulge what was in the scrolls. Nothing worked. He took the secrets of the scrolls to his death.

Maureen was about to reveal to Jarod her insight about the scrolls while sitting in his living room on the first night of their reunion. She didn't though. Seeing the solemn faces on both of her friends, she decided it could wait for another time. The scrolls no longer had any power over them. "What kind of people were they shopping for?" getting back on track as she brought her intense gaze back from the empath to Jarod.

Jarod's voice was subdued as he itemized the traits that the damnable Centre lusted after. "The ability to pretend to be other people, prescience, and very long lived."

Not feeling too surprised at what he told her, Maureen still shakily stood up, breaking contact with Jarod. She was, however, astounded at how long they've pursued their goals. Peering down at him, disbelief coloring her every word, "Oh my God," with unnoticed irony, "they were playing God for that long?"

A chill settled over her body as she turned her back on the two men. She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the ridge of her nose as she tried to assimilate what Jarod had just told her. _Almost a century. They'd been trying to create Pretenders, exploiting the Inner Sense for that long, and.._.

Whirling around she asked Jarod, "What did you mean by living long?" That, she told herself, she didn't understand. Why the hell did the Centre became obsessed with that trait?

He patted the spot where Maureen recently vacated and urged her, "You better sit down for this." It would be better for her, and for him, that she didn't collapse from what he was about to dump on her.

Parker looked at him for a moment than sighing she sat down right next to him again. "Spit it out, Jar," the tone of her voice conveying her stress. She wanted Jarod to tell her that there were methods to the Centre's madness, that it wasn't the capriciousness of fate that befell people whom the Centre touched.

Jarod heeded her entreaty. "One of the eugenics movement goals was to improve the human lifespan. Granted, it was a minor goal for many of its followers. Alas, for the Parkers they became obsessed with it."

Sudden realization dawned on Maureen, "The Parker Legacy."

Tim and Faith tensed as both knew Jarod was about to reveal the core reason for the existence of the Centre.

Taking both of her hands in both of his, he grimly pronounced, "Living longer was just a part of Project Triptych."

"Project Triptych, Jar?" Her Inner Sense was suddenly active, shrilling as the project's name was mentioned.

Looking away from her shortly to marshal his thoughts, trying to overcome the still present horror at how perverse the Centre, specifically the Parkers, would go to achieve their aims.

"The blending of three highly desired traits into one," Jarod intoned gravely. "The Pretender gene, the Inner Sense ability, and longevity."

Her mouthed formed an incredulous "O" as she felt like she was hit in her gut. "Superpretenders, long lived superpretenders with the Inner Sense," hissing out the words. Seeing Timmy leaning rigidly forward in his chair and hearing what Jarod had to say, she knew she hit it dean on.

"Correct," replied Jarod. It was finally out. Why the Red Files were the Centre's crown jewels. It would explain all the pain and suffering that all three survivors underwent in the black hole of the Centre.

"What were our roles supposed to be?" inquired Parker dazedly, her nerves fried at what she heard so far.

"To strengthen the desired traits that the Parkers wanted in our children. _Our children, _Maureen," stressed Jarod with a hard squeeze of her hand. He couldn't contain the anger at what Raines and Mr. Parker planned on doing to them.

Maureen jolted at the mention of children. "What!" She hurriedly let go of his hand and grabbed the front of his blue hensley shirt, frantically shaking him. "_We have children?!"_

"No," Jarod quickly clarified, firmly prying her hands away from his shirt. "Those shitheads wanted children from us. It was one of the reasons why they put so much pressure on you to bring me back after I escaped."

She slumped, shoulders drooping, struggling to understand what she'd learned so far. A secret corner of her leaped at the idea of having children with Jarod. Then a strange disappointment engulfed her. A throbbing ache at the idea that she could have borne his baby but didn't. Daddy made sure of that when he sent her to Europe. Almost by reflex, her left hand subtlely rubbed her abdomen, imagining what it would be like to carry their child. A family with him as the father. Maureen stole a peek at Jarod. He would make an exceptional parent.

Then Tim spoke up interrupting Jarod's smoldering anger at the dead Parker brothers and Maureen's dreams of a family. "The Parkers never knew about my empathic gift otherwise I would have been part of the project. Raines didn't know what he created thanks to your mother." He gave her a fond smile at his childhood protector."

Parker returned his smile. "Yeah, thanks mom." Her tone was dry. Timmy suffered enough at that bald headed mental case.

Her empathic friend wasn't finished as he continued. "Your genetic material didn't satisfy them. They wanted more."

"Huh? Could you explain what the hell you just said?" Parker lifted her eyebrows. "I mean," Maureen gulped at what she was discussing about, "my eggs and Jarod's…um…" She could feel her face blush with embarrassment.

Timmy thoughtfully helped her out. "Semen."

Jarod got another reminder, yet again, that Maureen has changed. The "Ice Queen" would have been nonplussed at using that word. In fact, she would've used much more colorful words than the medical term being bandied about here.

Taking mercy on her newly found ability to be embarrassed, Jarod began to fill in the blanks for her. "The original plan had the Centre using my semen to fertilize your eggs and implant them in surrogate women. Like Bridgette. However, a concern arose that after being in deep freeze for so long there might be a possibility of damage to our genetic material." Jarod's anger flared up again. "Those bastards decided that the best way to have the child that _they _want will be done naturally." The look he gave her spoke volumes of how he felt about that.

"Farm fresh, huh?" She shared Jarod's outrage but suddenly it disappeared as something sickening occurred to her. "When the hell did they collect our eggs and semen and what if I refused to be part of this insanity?"

Faith nodded her head as Parker asked the right questions. She also laughed aloud as she waited with anticipation for Jarod's explanation.

It was Jarod's turn to be embarrassed. Tim heard Faith snicker beside him. He didn't know why she was trying so hard not to laugh aloud. Eyeing her bemusedly, if she was still alive Faith would have been gasping for breath by now.

"Well, uh, you see I had these, um, dreams…" Jarod trailed off, wishing he could sink into the sofa. He wonder if it was really possible to die of embarrassment.

Maureen sat there stupefied by what Jar was saying. Slowly, a sly smile blossomed. "Really, Jar," she purred. Seeing Jar's face turned red was priceless. Embarrassment was a rare emotion for her Pretender to experience. She couldn't resist teasing him.

"What kind of dreams and why do they have to anything to with our genetic material."

She knew what kind of dreams he had, Parker just wanted to see how he was going to explain it to her. She considered it her payback for that strip search episode in Las Vegas.

The Pretender went into sim mode, desperately searching for a way to explain the type of dreams he experienced without humiliating himself. Though judging by the hint of mischief in her eyes, he had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to get off easy. For his dignity's sake, he was going to try.

Mustering as much gravitas into his voice, he told the smirking Maureen, the tittering unseen Faith, and a slightly befuddled Tim, "These dreams are usually experienced by boys between twelve and eighteen. " His face heated up at Parker's arched eyebrow. Jarod didn't know that he was capable of blushing harder than he already was. "Experts say it's perfectly normal."

Maureen couldn't resist in stretching this out a little further. "Is that so? What did they say happens in these dreams?" Her voice was dripping with innocence.

Jarod squirmed and he rubbed the back of neck. He was starting to sweat a little. "Th-, they," stuttering as he began to go into detail on what goes on in these dreams, "describes how a boy's body reacts to…"

She finally put an end to it as she saw how Jarod got more fluster as he struggled to tell her and Timmy what he went through. "I know what they are. They're called wet dreams, Jar."

His body sagged in relief. Jarod was grateful that Maureen put a stop to this embarrassing subject. Shooting her a peeved look, he asked her, "If you already knew, why did you make me go through all that?"

Holding off her reply, she leaned her body over his. Jutting her jaw outward, hovering right above his face, Maureen decided to give Jar a demonstration of the old Miss Parker. "Las Vegas. Strip search."

The Pretender winced at that old episode. It was fun at the time. The ultimate one-upmanship, the teasing, and the desire to bring her down a notch, all designed to put some dents to her haughty and arrogant mindset.

Feeling her breath on his face, Jarod slowly said to her, "Would you accept my apologies for that?"

Pinning him with her old patented death glare for a few more moments, Maureen slowly backed away from him and finally relented. She smiled at him. "I accept." Before Jar could completely relax, she growled at him once more, "The next time we're in Vegas, Jar, I better not be strip searched again. Or you'll regret it."

Chuckling slightly, Jarod complied, "Alright, Maureen, alright. No more strip searches."

His smile was much brighter and more natural than Tim remembered in recent memory. Maureen was good for him, as he knew she would. Half-facing his blond hair lady friend, he carefully subvocalized, "What are wet dreams?"

Faith shared a smile that hinted at something naughty. Shifting herself closer to him, she leaned and said in a throaty voice, "I'll explain them to you when we're alone."

Timmy swallowed and nodded rapidly several times. He felt an excitement as he looked forward to her explanation. But now he had to get Jarod and Maureen's concentration back on the secrets of the Centre. The empath regretted that he had to puncture this lighthearted moment.

"So what did wet dreams have to do with collecting your semen, Jarod?" His raspy-throated question put an end to the mirth built up between the Pretender and his former huntress.

"The Centre's medical staff would collect them after I woke up. I was told the collection process was for research." Feeling his mouth twist into a sneer, "Research for Project Triptych."

Jarod's palpable bitterness brought out a similar bitterness in Maureen. "Jar, when did they take my eggs?"

The look of tenderness on Jar's face in any other time would've been a heart stopper for Maureen, but here in this room, she shrank from it, for it portended something terrible.

"They first began collecting when you had your appendectomy while you were in Europe." Biting his lip, Jarod remorselessly went on as Parker silently took in what he was saying. "Soon after you began working for the Centre, the Parker brothers were aware of your binge drinking. So when you passed out all those times, they had sweepers bring you into a mobile fertility clinic disguised as a truck where your eggs were extracted without you remembering about it or worrying about you putting up a fight." Jarod emitted a depressed sigh. "You had a lot of blackouts, Parker."

"I would have found out what they had done to you and inform Jarod but the collection was done outside the Centre," Tim joined in contritely.

She shook her head, angry with herself for drinking so much, drinking to the point where she was taken advantage of. "Not your fault, Timmy. Lesson learned, boys," she drawled, "don't drink." She hid her shame from them. The stupidity that she inflicted upon herself while she was younger came back and bit her on the ass. "Was that it? Did they stop when I quit going to the bars?"

Jarod shook his head no. "The last time was when you were hospitalized for your bleeding ulcer. They knew they lost many opportunities when you cut back on your boozing. Concurrently, that was when Mr. Parker and Raines began preparing Plan B. My clone, whose name by the way is Isaac," referring to his doppelganger, "was their Plan B if you failed to capture me."

She felt heat build up inside her. Unlike Jarod's embarrassment, it was anger. Anger at the Centre, Daddy, Raines, and their faceless drones for serving them so mindlessly. "What were they going to do to us when we refuse to go along?"

"First off, Maureen, they wouldn't take no for an answer." Jarod fought the nausea down as he tried his best to answer her question in a clinical manner. But it wasn't working, not when he had to recall watching the DSAs where the Parkers cold-bloodedly planned for the inevitable refusals of both Red Files to participate in their sick plot. "So they found a way to make it happen without our permission."

Maureen found it hard to not reach out and comfort Jarod. Uneasiness crawled along her spine. Maybe she shouldn't have boasted earlier of her capacity for handling the truth. Looking at what they all went through with Faith, she wondered how much pain she can tolerate as the day moved along. "That would be holding a gun to our head? Threatening our love ones? Offering us a deal that we simply can't refuse?"

"Worse, Maureen," Jarod breathed out. He bit his lip and ran his hand through his close cropped hair. Without looking at her, he asked, "You heard of Viagra or Cialis?"

Snorting in annoyance and biting her tongue to prevent a nasty retort, she replied, "Who hasn't? I would be watching tv and they be talking about keeping it up for four hours. Why are we even talking about them, Jar?"

"The Centre was going to use some similar drugs on me, Parker, if I was brought back in." His remaining eye narrowed in fury. "To make sure I was in the _mood_ the Parker brothers were going to include some mind altering drugs." Stomach twisting in knots from telling her this grim and revolting scheme, he went on. "They were going to drug you, too."

Her eyes bugged out at what was coming from Jarod. "What? I would have fought them tooth and nail." She clenched her fists as she felt an uncontrollable urge to beat Daddy and Raines to bloody pulps. Maureen couldn't help but shivered at how callous Raines and Daddy were turning out to be.

"That's where Lyle comes into the picture," remarked Jarod. He tensed up just mentioning that sociopath. From Tim, he knew of Lyle's very unpleasant and unhealthy interest in the woman next to him. "Lyle was going to subdue you and take you down to the Renewal Wing where the staff there was going to administer you fertility drugs and," Jarod's mouth went dry as he force himself to spit out the depth of the Parkers evilness, "a class of medicine that's more popularly known as date rape drugs."

Maureen couldn't keep silent her cry of horror. "Oh, my God, Jarod! They would have you…" Her piercing stare conveyed to Jarod the impact his words had on her.

"They would have and they didn't give a damn about how we felt about it," Jarod viciously spat out. "It gets uglier, Parker. If they couldn't capture me, they plan to use Isaac instead of me.

"Those sons-of bitches," she hissed vehemently, apoplectic at what Daddy and Raines had in mind for that innocent boy. "How dare they consider using Isaac for something so, so…"

Jarod's tightened up as he responded. "They were going to let Lyle do all the dirty work. It helps their nonexistent consciences that he liked doing this kind of sick things."

She snorted angrily. "I would have shot Lyle if he ever laid his hands on me." The mention of Lyle's name brought out her old feelings of hate and loathing for her twin brother.

A hysterical laugh wanted to erupt from Jarod's mouth. A defense mechanism to cope with the horrors he had to share repeatedly to Parker. "The Centre would never allow anything to happen to him."

"Why?" cried out Parker in frustration. All her brother ever did was either act as a flunky or be a second rate conspirator in all the intrigues swirling around the Centre.

Jarod got up from the sofa and crossed his arms. He stepped over to the window, savoring the sunlit scene outside. Nothing to indicate that there was anything evil in the world. "Lyle was part of the project just like you and me." Dropping his arms, he placed them on the windowsill and leaned slightly forward. "He was going to _breed_," spitting out the word, "with my sister, Emily. It was one of the reasons why the Centre kept pursuing my family even after they took Kyle and me. They wanted Emily for what she offered."

Parker also got up while keeping a silent Timmy in her peripheral vision. Timmy was staring at a spot on the floor with his fingers steepled before his face. "Are you alright, Timmy?" she queried gently.

Timmy looked up and nodded at her. He pointed his head at Jarod without needing to speak any words.

With that prompt and a thin smile, Parker walked over to the window. She recalled the last time they stood here and that conversation they had. The talk of spouses, family, and emotions unlike what they were discussing now: bloodlines, unwanted pregnancies, and children born not out of love but of some damn scrolls written centuries ago.

Jarod waited for her to speak. An infinite weariness replaced the fiery anger.

Parker stood next to Jar. The scene outside was gorgeous. The front lawn was manicured with not a patch of yellowed dying grass. The shrubs and rosebushes provided a colorful contrast to the lawn. A gardener's eye for detail, Parker thought. Jarod's touch. Or Rachel's…

She quickly put away that stray thought to concentrate on what Jar told her about Lyle and Emily. "Emily has the Pretender gene and Lyle, like me, had the Inner Sense. Their child would be like our own." Her heart again soared at that idea. _Our own._

Jarod turned away from the window to face her. "My nephew or niece would inherit both traits. Just like ours would have been." A repugnant grimace contorted his scarred face. "Mr. Parker and Raines were going to have our child crossed with Emily's and Lyle's."

"That's…that's…" Parker couldn't even think of a word adequately describing what she was feeling, thinking. She looked into Jar's brown eye, "What else, Jar? With the Centre, there's always something more."

A shaky sigh. "I have a nephew, Parker."

A cautious look came to Parker's beautiful eyes, Jarod saw. "Should I be happy for you?"

"Yes and no." Turning to look outside the window again, he spoke in a clipped voice. "You know my nephew as Baby Parker. He was," Jarod paused, remembering how his brother died in his arms, "Kyle's and Annie's."

Parker stared at Jarod openmouthed, completely stunned. Her mind overwhelmed with one terrible secret after another. The first words to come out of her mouth were, "Did Raines have no sense of decency as to not take his own daughter's eggs for the Centre?" She whipped her head angrily back to look out the window, placing her hands on the window.

Jarod gazed tenderly at Parker's profile. Even haggard looking as she was, her beauty still shone. He sighed inwardly at his growing affections for her. Eventually, as he copied his friend and looked out the window once more, he answered her. "No. The Parkers and their Centre would lie, cheat, steal, murder, kidnap, and do anything else to further their goals." Thinking of another young woman he couldn't save, he went on, "Annie's loss was tragic for the Raines. From our research, Edna had a complete breakdown when the search for Annie was called off. As for Raines, whatever self-restraint that was left in him died after her disappearance."

Staring at the house across the street, Parker asked aloud, "Raines cared about someone, Jar? I just find that hard to believe." The William Raines she knew was a sinister and dangerous man. Involuntarily, goosebumps appeared on her. Raines always gave her the creeps.

"I agree with you, Maureen. There are things that the DSAs never could capture or written down in reports. We can never prove one way or another whether Raines was putting on an act or not when Annie was finally found."

The only sound heard was the shifting and shuffling of the bodies in the office while Faith stood steadfastly by Timmy's side. A mental break, as it were, was gladly needed by the occupants.

Project Triptych was something that needed to be taken in several slow doses.

As time flew by, Maureen reached out and took Jarod's hand. With their hands entwined Parker led them back to sit down on the sofa. Letting go of his hand, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. A migraine. _Funny, I haven't had one since the Centre went out of business._ "You were correct, Jar. Telling me all this gave me a headache."

"Do you want some painkillers?" Timmy spoke up as he noticed the all too familiar signs of an impending Miss Parker migraine and the snappishness that came with it.

Parker smiled gratefully at her "brother". "If you don't mind, Timmy."

"Of course not," Timmy replied, standing up and headed out to get the pills for her. Faith stayed behind to keep an eye on the star crossed couple.

While they waited for Timmy to return, Jarod asked her, "Is there anything else I can get for you? Something to drink or eat?" He was quite conscious that Parker skipped breakfast.

"I'm not hungry, Jar. But," Maureen had a hooded look on her face, "do you mind holding me?"

Jarod's heart stopped. Then resumed as he said, "No, I don't mind at all." This was different from the embraces earlier when he comforted a distraught Parker. This was…just him helping her as she struggled with the enormous amount of secrets being piled on to her. _Yeah, right_, his conscience jeering at his lame excuse. He pointedly ignored his own jibe as opened his arms and pulled her to him.

The throbbing behind her eyes eased as she rested her head in the crook of Jar's shoulders. Maureen just needed time to adjust to what she was hearing from Jarod and Timmy. "They are more evil than I can ever imagine, Jarod."

Jarod didn't say anything except to pull her a little closer and give her an air kiss on the top of her head.

A gentle smile graced Faith's face as she saw her two friends sitting there on the sofa comforting each other. In a perfect world where a place like the Centre would never have existed, the scene that Faith beheld before her would have been of a couple living a normal life, happy and in love.

Maureen and Jarod stayed huddled together, drawing strength from each other. The pair silently agreed to wait for their friend to show up before continuing. They stayed that way until Timmy reappeared with the pills and a bottle of water.

"Here's a couple of Tylenol and water for you," Timmy said, thrusting his hands out to Parker.

"Thank you, Timmy." Breaking away from Jarod, she took the proffered pills and the bottle of water. Popping the pills into her mouth, she took a gulp of water to help her swallow them. "I needed that."

"You're welcome, Maureen," rasped out Timmy as he headed back towards his Faith and his chair. After sitting down, he gave Jarod a gloomy look. More depressing news were about to be aired.

Jarod returned it. Adjusting his position, he took Parker's left hand into his right hand and sighed. "My nephew? His name is Michael. That's the name Emily chose for him when she decided to adopt him."

Parker straightened her body to look Jarod in the eye. "Emily adopted him? I mean it's great but why?" Locked up in prison, she wasn't able to find out what happened to Baby Parker, no it's Michael, she corrected herself. No one responded to her letters or phone calls requesting information on the baby she personally delivered.

"We wanted him to stay in the family. We know that there are couples out there who would love to adopt him and give him a caring environment to grow up in," explained Jarod. "But after our experiences we didn't want the grown up Michael to waste his time tracking down his real family when it wasn't necessary."

Relaxing her stiff stance, Parker flowed back to lean into the sofa. "So Emily volunteered?"

"She wanted to. She fell in love with him the minute she set her eyes on Michael. Ethan was with her at every step of the adoption process. I was surprised but they hit it off since they first met." Jarod shrugged. "She helped Ethan when he was having a hard time adapting to life without Raines or the Centre in it as well as coping with his Inner Sense."

Concerned flared inside Maureen. She had a fondness for her half brother and was hurt that he never visited her at her prison. Now she knew why he never showed up. "How is he?" demanded Parker, again angling towards Jarod.

"Doing quite well," Jarod answered. Absently rubbing one of his facial scars, Jarod continued to tell her about Ethan. "He is with Emily in Australia." He saw the dumbfounded look on her face and awaited the inevitable question.

"What the hell is he doing all the way down there? And with your sister no less?" Mixed emotions twisted within her. Jealousy over Ethan being with Jarod's sister and a sense of abandonment by him left her a bit dazed.

Faith and Timmy knew the reasons why those two left. Both knew that Jarod and his family still bore the emotional scars from what happened after the Centre's fall. They carefully watched Jarod to see how he would reveal to Parker his family's current situation.

Losing Rachel was the worst loss in his life Jarod ruminated. The breakup of his family came second. Before her death, Jarod told Tim that the breakup was the worst thing he ever experienced in his life. That included being kidnapped by the Centre.

"My parents divorce was the main reason that they moved to Melbourne." Half turning to her, Jarod sought out her hands and the comfort they promised as the old tearing pain ripped through him again. "The other reason was the Parkers plan to have Michael bred with Ethan's female offspring."

Maureen's outrage was white hot. She spluttered as once more she was reminded how evil the Centre and Daddy was. "For God's sake, Jar, what was wrong with Daddy and Raines?" she yelled in helpless anger. "What were they thinking when they planned this?"

Timmy's empathic gift already told him about Parker's anguish at Ethan's Centre directed destiny and Faith winced in sympathetic anguish.

The Pretender tilted a bit in order for him to rub her arms, working to calm her down. "The ultimate Parker Legacy, Maureen." Stopping the caressing, he burned his gaze into her blue-gray eyes. "Once our baby was mated with Emily's and Lyle's, our grandchild will be crossed with the offspring of Michael's and Ethan's and a long lived woman that the Centre would kidnap for him to knock up."

Parker was about to open her mouth when Jarod quickly put his right forefinger on her lips, effectively silencing her.

"The final outcome of Project Triptych would be a great grandchild of ours that would be long-lived, possess the Inner Sense, capable of pretending to be anyone, and," lips trembling and eyes watery, Jarod in barely audible voice, "totally under the Parker's control."

Four generations of their family trapped inside the Centre. Abused by remorseless sweepers, tortured by sociopaths, their gifts exploited by greedy power hungry trolls, and taught that right was wrong and wrong was right. Something deep inside her soul couldn't, wouldn't accept this nightmare scenario. "No." Steely resolve gripped her. "I would kill them with my bare hands before that would ever happen."

Her three friends, in their individual way, fervently agreed with her. Hell would freeze over before they would ever allow the Parkers to get away with their demented scheme.

Jarod felt relieved. Glad that the miserable subject of Project Triptych was finally over with.

While Jarod sat there with a gaunt look, Parker, with her excellent attention to detail, inhaled deeply as she thought of his parent's fate. _Divorced? Charles and Margaret? Those two?_ She expressed her thoughts to Jarod. "Charles and Margaret look like they belong together, Jar," she warily told him, careful not to distress him. Parker knew how much reuniting his family meant to him. Now, for this to happen to him….

"Mom and Dad thought so too but," Jarod stirred momentarily, stopping to let the pain wash over him before going on, "the years on the run apart from each other, Kyle's murder, Emily's almost meeting the same fate, and the attendant stresses that went with it all caused them to change and drift apart."

"I'm so sorry, Jar," she sympathetically told him. Her eyes shimmered at the look of loss on his face.

Clutching her fingers, he went on, too intent on telling her what happened to his family to notice the unshed tears in her eyes. "They thought they could just pick up where they left off before the Centre entered our lives. They found out that they were wrong."

Jarod remembered those days. Coming back from his honeymoon to find out his parents arguing over trivial things. Arguments that really were excuses for them to bring forth long suppressed resentments, guilt, grief, and anger over what happened to them and their children.

"They forced us to pick sides," Jarod spoke in voice barely heard by the other three. His fingers suddenly clenched on hers. "How could they make us choose between them? I, we, love them equally, Maureen."

Parker squeezed his fingers in return, wincing slightly at how tight he was grasping them. "They were wrong to force their children to choose," she soothed him. "It was something between them not you, Emily, Ethan, or Isaac."

"I convinced them to go to marriage counseling," he said, finally looking up at her. Seeing her teary eyes, he let go of her hands, gently wiping them away.

Maureen again felt the lingering warmth of his fingers on her face as he tenderly wiped away her tears again. She watched him and said, "It didn't work, did it?"

"No, it didn't work. They separated without even finishing their sessions." Shrugging his shoulders, his head bowed down by the weight of his unnecessary guilt, he told her the rest of the news regarding his family. "Within a period of two weeks, Emily's petition to adopt Michael was approved and my parents were granted their divorce." Taking her hands in his again, he finished by saying, "Both Emily and Ethan were scarred by what Mom and Dad put us through as well as by the Centre so Emily told us she was moving as far away as possible to a country that still spoke English." A harsh snort. "Turns out to be Australia. Ethan went with her to help raise Michael and get away from all the bad memories."

He let go of her and leaned back against the sofa, eyes closed with one hand resting on his forehead. Jarod needed some time to rest from this telling.

Maureen stared at him wanting to lie down on top of him and just hold him but refrained. This wasn't the time or place. Mindful of Timmy still sitting quietly by her, she didn't want an audience for something so intimate. Lastly, one thing still nagged at her.

"Jarod?"

Blinking open his eye, he replied, "Yes?"

"What about Isaac?" she inquired. Curiosity suddenly burst forth in her. He looked exactly just like Jar right before Daddy sent her away.

"He stayed with Emily and Ethan until they moved Down Under. Rachel and I offered him our place to stay after they left but he refused." He sighed in frustration. Isaac was too headstrong sometimes for his own good. "He didn't want to see the reason for his creation in his face everyday."

She winced at that flat tone of Jarod's. Isaac hurt her man with his rejection. She leaned a bit forward. "So where is Isaac now?" A good name for him she thought absently.

"He's in Mojave, California working as a test pilot for one of the private space companies. Isaac wants to help lead the way for private citizens, like you and me, go up there into space and stay there."

Maureen was surprised at this news. She believed he would do something else. "How did he wound up there?"

A faint smile creased Jarod's face, erasing briefly the shadow that haunted it. "You can blame Dad and me." Seeing her questioning look, he explained, "Dad was an Air Force pilot and I pretended to be a pilot several times," remembering avidly the exultation of flying high above the Earth and the sense of freedom that came with it, "so he decided he'll follow in our footsteps but marching to his own drummer."

Satisfied with knowing the whereabouts of Jarod's clone, she hesitantly asked him, "And your parents?"

A long silence before he responded. "Mom's like Emily except she went to Mexico where Spanish is spoken. She bought herself a beachfront condo in Baja California. Mom's been going steady with an ex-pat retiree." Another moment of quietude descended upon Jarod.

Maureen could see something discomfited him. She wanted to prod him to finish his answer but willed herself to be patient.

Tim looked at Jarod before giving Faith a sidelong glance. The empath didn't share Jarod's current attitude towards his father but he kept that to himself. He debated with Faith just by facial tics whether he should speak up or not.

Faith saw the uncertain look Timmy was throwing at her. Tresses of her hair stirred lazily as she shook her head. "Don't interrupt Jarod. Maureen needs to know this part of him."

Ignorant of the brief exchange between Faith and Tim, Jarod verbalized his dismay over his father's situation. "After the split, Dad stayed with us for a while he before he went stir crazy." Gesturing with his hands in a helpless motion, "He barnstormed for a while until he decided to head for greener pastures. Right now, he's in Majorca shacked up with a couple of women young enough to be his daughters." Jarod didn't bother to hide his disgust and contempt over his father's antics.

"You have gotta be shitting me," Parker burst out. So stunned at this inconceivable image of Major Charles that she inadvertently fell back on the scatological language she used in prison. "This isn't like your father at all."

"Oh, it is. Trust me on this." He had to stand up. Timmy and Faith, unlike Parker, were acquainted with Jarod's agitation when it came to discussing his father's current status. "Partying and fucking like a horny rabbit every night, sleeping in til past afternoon, day in, day out, that's my dad."

Maureen recalled the aura of responsibility and authority that exuded from Major Charles. Now the picture that Jarod was painting of his dad was clashing with what she remembered. "What changed him, Jar?"

He studied her briefly before answering. A hard tone coated his words. "The Centre. What else would cause it? Dad just got worn down being the responsible one, the wise father, the loving husband. After our family finally got reunited, it went down the shitter pretty fast. Everyone responded differently. Dad's reaction was to just shuck it all and party like there's no tomorrow. An over the hill skirt chaser, that's what he is now." The bitterness was palpable.

"He'll come back to his senses," reassured Parker, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her words.

Jarod shrugged, not wanting to discuss about a very sore point in his life. "We'll see. I'm not his keeper and he made it abundantly clear to me to butt out of his personal life."

Parker stood up, face to face with him. "If you want me to, I'll talk to him. Maybe he'll listen to me," she offered. Maureen saw a chance to help him with his family rather than hurt the Russell's like she had while she was a Centre operative.

The Pretender was deeply moved by her offer and quickly considered it. _It wouldn't hurt, he thought._ However, his dad can wait for another time. Right now though, the mother of all bombshells was going to be dropped on her and he and Tim, seeing the silent empath sitting patiently waiting to help him, were going to be there for her.

"I'll take up on your offer later. But now," tenderly clasping her shoulders, "you need to sit down. I have another Centre secret to tell you."

* * *

**A/N2: **A clarification. Tim is the name Jarod prefers when talking to him. Faith and Maureen like to use Timmy instead. 

Am I mean or what? Breaking up the Russell's like that? Well, as someone who grew up in the 80s, going to school and working with others as well as hanging out with my friends, I know more people who are divorced, are single parents, working on blended families, etc. That's one of two reasons I broke them up. The other was all the social turmoil that went on which Charles and Margaret got caught up in: women's liberation with the so-call bra burning images; the sexual revolution, I've wondered if they were faithful to each other being split up for so many years and on the run; the questioning of authority; etc, etc, etc.

For the purpose of this story so far, I decided to break them up. Oh, I know of families that fits the traditional stereotype but they didn't have the pressure of the Centre on them. So, for the poor Russell family, the Centre brought them down.

Ch20 will be posted as soon as I'm done editing and revising.

Thanks again for all the reviews. You know who you are since you all have been my faithful reviewers.

Please read and review.

Muchos Gracias.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

**A/N1:** This chapter completes the original chapter 18. In addition, this chapter deals with the adult theme of rape, though nongraphic. You've been warned.

* * *

Jarod admired the brave front Maureen was putting on but he wasn't fooled. He knew she was both reeling from all the revelations he and Tim unveiled for her so far and in suspense over what else they were about to disclose to her. 

"It concerns Catherine and your father," began Jarod somberly as they sat back down on the sofa. Swallowing hard, he told her, "In the aftermath of the Centre's fall, while sifting through Mr. Parker's personal DSAs, we found some disks that showed your mother with someone else."

"You mean romantically. Right, Jar?" asked Parker without any surprise in her tone. In her mind's eye, she remembered seeing Ben's pained expression when he told her of his suspicion that Momma was in love with someone else.

Jarod and Timmy were surprised by what she just said and both clearly showed it on their faces. "You knew?" Timmy inquired, speaking for both men.

Parker grunted affirmatively. "Ben spoke to me about his suspicions while I was staying at his place. I didn't really want to believe him but with you two telling me the same thing now, I guess it's true." In spite of what she saw in her childhood, the screaming matches, that one time when Momma appeared in the dining room doorway with bruises on her face, and the weird comings and goings by her parents, Maureen clung to the idea that her parents were in love with each other. Now, another delusion of hers was stripped bare by the only two people left on Earth whom she trusted implicitly.

Jarod's body relaxed in relief. At least now, he didn't have to convince her that Mr. Parker was not the man Catherine loved. That it was someone else. Someone that was close to a man that was a pervading presence to all three of them since they were children.

"Who was Momma seeing, Jar?" Parker mentally ran down her list of Momma's potential lovers. There weren't many men on her list. So she sat on edge, her body taut, as she waited to hear from him who it was from her list of suspects.

"Jacob," Jarod finally declared in a neutral voice. "It was Jacob Greene that she was in love with." The Pretender was curious how she would react to Sydney's twin brother being Catherine's lover.

"Jacob?" Parker was caught off guard by the name. She had a hard time envisaging Momma and him as lovers. In fact, he wasn't even on her list. "Are you sure, Jar? It's, I'm having a hard time seeing them together," admitted Parker, disbelief tingeing her tone. Other than looking just like Syd, being identical twins of course, all she could recollect of the man was the blandness that exuded from the psychiatrist during the rare times that she met him. _What did Momma saw in him?_

Tim and Jarod shared a look. They understood how she felt. When Jarod showed Tim the DSAs with Catherine and Jacob in them, it was only then that he was finally convinced. Like the brunette, when they first discovered Jacob and Catherine were lovers, they too couldn't believe it.

"We felt the same way, Maureen, when we found out. The DSAs were the only reason that we believe it," Tim informed her. From his chair, he motioned Jarod with a jerk of his head. He took in Jarod's return nod then he sat back in his chair for another act from the Catherine and Mr. Parker tragedy.

Jarod felt his lips twitching, trying to form a smile. All due to what he was about to tell her. In his opinion, it was a good feeling since he was going to tell her some rare good news.

"In fact, we found out that they were lovers for a long time. Long enough for them to have twins together." He looked directly at Maureen after he dropped this bombshell on her. He saw as her mind digested his news. Her reddened eyes widened and Jarod heard her shocked gasp.

"Jacob and Momma, not Daddy, I mean Mr. Parker?" babbled Maureen incoherently. The identity and the life she grew up in were being pulled right out under her. "No, it can't be," she said, going immediately into denial, trying to come with a plausible reason that what she was hearing wasn't true.

Jarod, while honoring his pledge to never sim Maureen, pretty much can guess what she was undergoing right now. "It's a shocker, I know. But you have to accept it. Please…" his voice trailing off. Suddenly, a new fear rippled through him. Maureen would not accept what she just learned and cling to the man who gave nothing but heartache and pain to this extraordinary woman sitting in front of him.

Coming right after this newfound fear was an aching urge to kiss those delicate lips of hers. He was eager to taste them again, to see if they still tasted the same when he first kissed her as a young boy unknowingly trapped within the Centre, or did they matured like wine, more heady, more fruitful.

He fought his desire for her down, accepting his yearning for her was growing, all in the knowledge that she needed him and that he was so close to giving her what she wanted. Like now. Seeing the lost look on her face, Jarod wanted to kiss her pain away, to wrap her within his arms and protect her from a harsh and unforgiving life like she deserve to.

Daddy. It was what she always called him because she was led to believe it by both Momma and Dad-Mr. Parker. In return, he called her his "Angel". The nickname she always had a love/hate relationship. Loved because it made her feel special and cared for, hated because he used it to make her submit to his demands and carry out his will.

The chaotic emotions that Jarod unleashed inside her made Maureen to look back and go over the less than pleasant memories of her and "Daddy".

She thought harshly of all those years yearning for his approval, the outrageous stunts and antics she pulled off all in the name of getting him to pay attention to her. All in futility. Ignored, handed off to indifferent servants, and lied to when she was growing up. Manipulated like a puppet to serve at his beck and call. Vividly, Maureen looked back on the last time she saw the man she believed to be her father offering Jarod her body like a pimp and then finally reduced to a begging, pleading frightened man desperate to escape justice by making deals to anyone who would listen.

Her eyes hardened as she said aloud, "Did Dad-, did he know that I and Lyle weren't his?"

Tim and Faith shared a look of trepidation, hating that their friend had to find out the sordid truth. Another repugnant Parker act was about to be air.

Rubbing his temple, Jarod gaze into those haunted eyes, "Yes. He knew almost from the start of their love affair and when your mother became pregnant, he already figured out that they weren't his."

She broke off from looking into Jarod's worried eye. Maureen hugged herself. She closed her eyes briefly as she struggled to put into words what she was feeling.

Jarod moved even closer than the nonexistent space that already existed between them. He meant what he told her earlier. That he would be here for her. The way it should have been when she was sent away from him all those years ago.

If he had found out earlier than the actual time what the Centre was doing to his simulations he would have escaped and joined her. Maybe saved her from the unwanted odyssey that created the Centre's ice queen.

_Then you never would have loved Rachel, never know how she filled that emptiness in you that you always believed Maureen was the only one to fill it. _

So engrossed was Jarod with his own thoughts that he almost missed the mewling sound coming from Maureen. He pulled her to him. "Maureen? What's wrong?" When she didn't reply, he pressed his face closer to her. "Please tell me." Whatever defenses he had protecting himself from her finally collapsed when, in a whisper, "Let me help you."

Stirring in his strong arms, Maureen took in the tender expression on his face. She reached up and briefly caressed his cheek and in a cracking voice, "I'm not a monster." Choking up, she graced Jarod with a bitter smile. "The things Daddy, I mean, Mr. Parker, did, I thought it was passed along to me. I thought I was just like him. A monster."

Jarod wore an incredulous appearance on his face. What he was hearing from Maureen completely floored him. Feeling the aching hurt and throbbing pain from his first friend, Jarod immediately cupped her face and pinning Jacob's daughter with a piercing eye, he exhorted her, "Don't you dare think that you are a monster. You are not. You have never been a monster. Do you hear me, Maureen?" He desperately wanted to shake her, force some sense into her, upset at what she thought of herself.

His words meant the world to her. Jarod would never lie to her. Seeing the look of urgency on Jarod, she moved her head away from his cupped hands and settled on his chest. While listening to his strong beating heart, she placed her arms about his torso. The pills seemed to be working as the pounding of her migraine began to subside. Or, she believed, being held by Jar, feeling his arms go around her copying her action, was the ultimate pain reliever.

Jarod heard her sigh. Sadness, relief, pain, he can only conjecture. "Parker?"

Maureen stopped breathing. The name that Jarod just used was her identity, her connection, the link to a family that never was hers. The way that Daddy, no, rebuking herself, not anymore, Mr. Parker taught her to act as a Parker provoking fear, respect, awe, and loathing among the unwashed masses was how she lived. Until now.

Her body went taut. Remembering to breathe again, she pulled away from Jarod and stood up, smoothing down her sundress. No matter what Jarod had to say, she needed to stand up and move around.

Jar and Tim's exposés left her struggling to accept what they were telling her. In the comfortable air-conditioned office, she experienced hot and cold sensations. All dependent on what outrages, barbarities, or surprises that were explained to her.

Right now, though, feeling her face hardening, she needed to clear the air about one thing. Non-negotiable. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Maureen saw the rapt attention her friends were giving her. If she were able to see Faith, she would have noticed that her sister was also very attentive.

"I do not want to be called Parker, Miss Parker, or any other variations on Parker." She let her words sink in. "Never again. Do I make myself clear?" catching and holding each one's eyes with hers.

"About time," Faith voiced out loud. She knew the terrible lie fostered by Mr. Parker long before Jarod and Timmy discovered the DSAs. Through the decades, her frustrations grew because of her agreement with the PTBs. Her inability to tell Maureen that the murderer wasn't the real father she needed was among the frustrations she had to endure. "That…thing… finally got his last claw pulled out of her. I hope he knows that he can't manipulate her anymore."

Timmy nodded, acknowledging Faith's unforgiving commentary, yet couldn't say openly that Mr. Parker still had one last thing left to hurt their Maureen. Addressing his "sister", he answered, "Yes, you have." His forehead creased, he asked her, "Do you want us to continue addressing you as Maureen or something else?"

Jarod sat quietly waiting for her reply. Studying her, he saw the strain and exhaustion on her body. Instinctively, he wanted to put a halt to what they were doing and insisting she rest. Nevertheless, recognizing her burning desire to know all the secrets that the Centre kept from her, he said nothing except, "Perfectly, Maureen."

Maureen unclenched her jaw and gave them a grateful nod. "Thank you. As for what to call me, Maureen will do just fine." She hurriedly added, killing off any idea that the two of them might come up with later on, "Also, to be clear, don't call me Miss Greene or Greene. Just Maureen for now." She made a silent note to contact Ryan Chang, her lawyer, on how to legally change her name to either Maureen Greene or Maureen Jamison. She needed to think long and hard about which name to take. Getting rid of the Parker surname just jumped to her top ten things to do list.

The two male Red Files nodded while Faith said approvingly, "Good for you, sister."

The tidbit that Jarod gave her regarding her and Lyle's not being Mr. Parker's had her reflecting about Momma and her lover. "Momma couldn't leave because of me and Da-Mr. Parker would never let her leave." She wanted to see what Jar and Timmy had to say to that.

Jarod concurred. "In those times, she would have lost custody of you and Lyle because she was the adulteress and he was the innocent party. The other thing we have to consider is Catherine was a devout Catholic. Divorce would have been unthinkable for her. She wouldn't have left you under any circumstances."

"But cheating on her husband was okay," Maureen acerbically noted. The ability of people to have contradictory beliefs at the same time still amazed her.

Jarod gave her a helpless shrug. She plowed on as she gave voice to what she personally knew or inferred from the half-whispered gossip and scraps of info that she dug up lurking around the Centre. "Jacob stayed to be with Momma and Syd." A slight hesitation. "And us."

"Partly," Timmy pitched in. "He was the Centre's point man for finding talented children and bringing them in to the Centre. In Mr. Parker's eyes, he was useful otherwise he would undoubtedly have an accident."

In alluding to the accident that would leave Jacob an invalid, Maureen cried out in horror. "I almost killed my father!" She fought down the nausea at this sickening awareness.

Jarod got up and hurriedly strode over to settle her down. He reassured her, "You didn't kill him." He shook her slightly to grab her undivided attention. "You saved him. You wouldn't carry out the order. Remember?"

Sliding her hands over her face, the shaken ex-huntress answered him. "Yes, I remember." Then opening her eyes to look at the two men, in an abrupt change, her voice conveyed delighted wonder, "Syd's my uncle." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Right?" At this point, it wouldn't surprise her that Sydney was not her uncle but something else conjured out of the hell that was the Centre.

"He is," affirmed Jarod.

"I have to contact him, tell him I know that he's my uncle, he must have kept our relationship secret to protect me," Parker excitedly told them, her feelings making her smile briefly.

"Sydney doesn't know that you're his niece," an apologetic Jarod explained. He liked the smile on her face. He hope to see more of it in the future.

"What the hell are you saying?" Maureen asked, annoyed at Jarod. "Of course, he knows. He's Jacob's twin brother," was her exasperated retort at the Pretender. She knew how devoted Sydney was to Jacob by closely watching how he took care of his invalid brother.

"That wasn't enough for Jacob or Catherine. They both feared Sydney would divulge, either intentionally or accidentally, to Mr. Parker their relationship."

"What are you implying, Jar? That Sydney couldn't be trusted?" Even as she defended her newly discovered uncle, she considered all the secrets he kept hidden away from everyone, even from her. It took a lot of threats, coaxing, and sometimes, guilt, to get him to spill the beans. She vaguely wondered if Syd told her all of his secrets. She'll have to ask him that when she go and visit him at his prison.

Jarod bit out, "In one word, yes." Tushar told him that he still had festering issues with Sydney during their sessions but Jarod didn't want to hear about them nor did he wanted to take up on Tushar's advice and confront Sydney in person. "They weren't sure how Mr. Parker was going to react if he ever found out that your mother was cheating on him."

"Sydney would never betray his brother. He loved him," pointed out Parker.

"Again, it wasn't enough. He was too obsessed with the Pretender Project and the other research going on at the Centre. Sydney got his playground to play in and he wasn't seeing what was happening outside that area," Jarod snapped at her. "He didn't see the human cost of those research he was conducting or that there were a small group of people trying to put a stop to it. It was his blindness that Catherine and Jacob never recruited him into their operations."

She paused as his words sank in. During the years when they tried to capture Jarod, Syd slowly revealed his regrets and having second thoughts for some of the actions he took which included Jarod. "He told me he regretted some of the things he did, Jar. I'm sure he would have changed things if he were able to go back in time."

Slightly run down Jarod could only grunt. "I'm sure he would. But that's water under the bridge now." Leaning against the wall nearest him, Jarod stretched his stiffened back muscles before telling her the rest of the bad news. "Regarding Mr. Parker's reaction," here Jarod leaned forward towards her, "it was vicious and cruel. It proved how very vindictive and evil he was."

"What did Daddy-um, he do to them?" Apprehension gripped her soul as she tried to think up what her, not Daddy anymore, but the man who raised her could possibly do to them.

Timmy and Faith cringed and experienced again their feelings of helplessness. Unable to help the long dead Catherine and Jacob, they could only be here to help Maureen in their own way once this vile of all the Centre's secrets was let out. "Nobody deserves this," Faith voiced angrily. Her blue eyes shone with anger. Angry that men like Raines and Mr. Parker were able to get away with their actions for so long before being brought down.

Timmy emitted a soft grunt totally agreeing with her sentiments. Ever since he was helped out of the lab by Catherine, his empathic gift showed him how dark the Parker brothers were. Once he found out the nature of those beasts, he went to help Jarod to stop the Centre in whatever way he could.

The anger he shared with Faith was on display in Jarod. The Pretender used some of the tricks Sydney taught him to reign in his white hot hatred towards Mr. Parker and Raines. They helped him to seek a calm center and stay on track after a few moments of slow deep breathing.

Maureen could see the struggle as Jarod fought to get his emotions under control. "Jarod," she called out.

"I'm good," he insisted, addressing her concern about him. Willing his tired body to relax fractionally, he described to her the depths of Mr. Parker's brutal nature.

"When you and Lyle were born, Mr. Parker ordered Raines to take Lyle away. He decided that you will stay with Catherine because of your Pretender gene and the very probability of you inheriting your mother's Inner Sense." He repeated something everyone there knew but he had to start from the beginning.

Maureen rolled her eyes at him at this rehash, "C'mon, Jarod. Tell me something I don't know."

"No," retorted Jarod. "You need to know the whole story." Then he went, in depth, what Mr. Parker's response was to being cuckolded.

"The first punishment the Chairman inflicted on your parents was to deprive your mother and Jacob one of their children which turned out to be Lyle. I won't go into detail what they did to your brother. We all know how he became what he was." Peering at her stormy eyes, Jarod continued. "Next, he was going to turn you into the model Centre operative. In effect, an extralegal covert operative working outside society answerable only to him. Totally opposite of what your mother and father wanted you to be." His resurgent anger fought to be let out after this, to kill Mr. Parker with his bare hands for doing this to her. "He came very close to molding you into what he wanted."

Woodenly, she whispered to him, "I know." She shook as something inside threaten to break. _I won't cry, _she angrily thought. _I won't give him the satisfaction. I won't let that monster beat me._

She didn't resist as Jarod tenderly enfolded her in his arms. The little girl in her, the one Jarod spoke of seeing her coming back was thrilled and feeling safe from the quick peck he gave on her forehead.

"He failed," comforting her with his words. No other person, including Tommy, could have anticipated what was going through her head. Except for Jar. Only he knew the right words to soothe her.

"Thank you." The turmoil roiling her subsided just enough for her to ask him in a strained voice, "Was Jacob's," a sad ironic laugh, "correction, Daddy's accident, Mr. Parker's revenge on him for making him look like a loser?" She didn't bother hiding the contempt and loathing for that son of a bitch.

"That was one factor," he responded to her question. "Another factor was that he wanted out of the Centre and he was planning to take Catherine and you with him." Rubbing small circles on her back, he added, "He was also going to ask Sydney, too. If he ever got his head out of the clouds."

"It never happened." She was enjoying the rubbing he was giving her, resting her head on his shoulder, and the warmth coming off him that she was becoming to enjoy more and more as they move slowly closer.

"No, it didn't. Mr. Parker prevented it by ordering that car crash to prevent Jacob from taking away you and your mother. The stupid dumbfuck took a big chance of hurting, maybe killing, Sydney too, in that crash. He still needed Sydney to control me because he didn't want to spread Raines too thin."

"Where were you in their plan, Jar?" She drew herself up to look at him. Maureen didn't like the fact that he didn't bring up himself in Jacob's escape plans. "And Timmy, too?"

The Pretender's lips curled in a caricature of a smile as he addressed her curiosity. "After they escaped with you, they were going to Europe to set up new lives for the three of you. Once that was done, Catherine and Jacob were supposed to come back and rescue the rest of us."

Tim joined in, "It would have worked except Jacob's accident upset their plans. The accident unsettled your mother causing her to develop her ill-conceived suicide plot and misplaced her trust in Mr. Fenigore."

Faith by now was astride on one of the arms of the chair Timmy was sitting in. Her only comment was a quiet, "If only…"

Maureen set her head back against Jar's shoulders after paying attention to what Timmy was saying. "They never knew that Lyle was alive." The intense sibling rivalry and their mutual hatred towards each other was no secret to anyone who ever saw them trying to tear new assholes from each other. Now hearing what the revenge that monster inflicted upon her family, her loathing of her brother slowly changed to sadness and pity. She closed her eyes as she created a different picture of Lyle. A Lyle who might have been a kind, caring, compassionate man who would have proudly carried on the Jamison Heritage. Not the cannibalistic sociopath Centre pawn that the Parker brothers begat.

Jarod paused in his rubbing. "No. I'm sure that if they knew he was alive they would have done everything in their power to find him and rescue him." Maybe, he contemplated, he would have been saved in time from being abused by the Bowman's before going beyond the point of no return.

"You're right, Jar," Maureen said in a barely audible voice. "They would have."

Quiet settled over the room as all four of them mourned the loss of Catherine, Jacob, Lyle, and the other children. Victims of the two monsters who reigned over the hell that was named the Centre.

* * *

She sensed a change in Jarod's mood. Maureen shifted her stance and took in the intense gaze Jar was giving her. "What is it, Jarod?" anxiety gripped her again as she looked into his solemn eye. Shifting her eyes quickly over to Timmy, she saw that his face was exactly the mirror image of Jar's. Swallowing a lump in her suddenly tight throat, "Tell me." 

Turning to face her directly, he let his hands trace her soft and smooth cheeks before he spoke up. He held her hands before saying, "It's about your mother."

Her anxiety doubled and her heart rate went faster as she nervously felt her mouth go dry, "What did they do to Momma?" There was no doubt in Maureen's mind that the Parkers did something to her mother. Strangely, her Inner Sense went mute which didn't made sense since it always shouted whenever something really bad happens to her or her love ones.

Faith had to look away, as she began sobbing. Of the four people in the office, she was the only one who truly knew about the sickening things done to their mother. Moreover, the only way she knew was that Catherine told her. She pleaded, to no effect, that she could wipe those memories from her mind, erase the ugly words that came out of their mother's mouth.

Timmy was helpless to comfort Faith by holding her within his arms. He'd been through this before and every time another piece of him died upon hearing it again. He felt his nails dig into his palms and waited for the inevitable waves of grief and anger to come from his "sister." This was one of those rare times when he cursed his gift.

Jarod wanted to flee from the room, not wanting to tell her what he had to tell her. Pretend, how he hated that word, that all was well, that the Centre no longer had the power to hurt them. Seeing the frightened look in her blue-gray eyes, he wanted to pull her to him, telling her everything would be all right. However, it wasn't to be. The Parker brothers made sure of that. Squaring his shoulders, he reluctantly began.

"Catherine caught the attention of the Centre, specifically Mr. Parker, because of her Inner Sense. Mr. Parker was determined by any means necessary to bring her in. The method he chose was seduction. We all know how well that worked because she fell in love with and married that scumbag." Everyone waited expectantly as Jarod went on. "Once she was inside, the Centre made sure that she would never leave. As part of that plan, Raines entered the picture." Jarod had to stop because just mentioning that wheezing madman caused him to gag.

"What was his role?" Parker whispered. Even without her Inner Sense, her natural instincts were telling her that this was something that she would regret hearing.

"To pretend to be her confidant, someone she can trust and confide in. However," taking a shaky breath, "in doing so, Raines developed an obsession towards your mother. Mr. Parker knew about it but he didn't care nor did he put a stop to it. So long as it didn't stop the Parker Legacy."

Her instincts were leading her down a path that she dare not imagine, something that she desperately hoped Jarod would never say in her presence. "Please, Jarod," squeezing his hands tightly, "Did he hurt Momma?"

Timmy tensed, sickened by what he had to hear again. Faith's sobbing changed to whimpers as she sat down by Timmy's feet with her knees drawn up to her chest.

The moment stretched forever before Jarod slowly whispered one word, "Yes."

Maureen began to tremble. It began in her stomach and quickly spread to the rest of her. Her legs could no longer support her as she buckled and landed on her knees hard. She fought the trembling as she forced out her question without looking at him. "What did he do to her?"

Jarod quickly kneeled to embrace the frightened woman. She didn't deserve this, he despaired as he wrapped his arms around her. Maureen already suffered enough.

"Tell me, Jar. Please," Parker beseeched him. "Don't you dare say I don't need to hear it."

The Pretender closed his eye as he placed his head on her shoulder. Adopting a detached clinical voice, otherwise, he couldn't force the words out, he softly whispered to her the horrible secret. "The Centre developed a class of drugs similar to Rohypnol, which is popularly known as a date rape drug. They were at least almost two decades ahead in developing this class of drugs than the rest of the drug industry. Those drugs were also the same ones that the Parkers planned to use on us."

Her shaking was becoming more noticeable. The sounds of weeping and moans could be heard in the deathly still room.

"Raines, as a medical professional, knew what the drugs were capable of. He used it on Catherine for years without her knowledge or consent. Mr. Parker was made aware of Raines actions due to the DSAs that recorded the…" here his voice lost its detachment and displayed the agony and grief, "rapes from the very beginning. He let Raines continue his crimes just before she was impregnated with Ethan."

_NO, NO, NO_, shrieked Parker silently. Her trembling lingered for some time before she found her voice. "Tell me you're making this up, Jar," Maureen shakily getting the words out. Her eyes begged him to lie to her, to tell her that it was a sick joke he was playing on her, wanting him to refute something so ugly, so horrific. Jarod would deny her that last flicker of hope.

"I wish I could lie to you, Maureen, but I saw some of the DSAs," he watched only one before he couldn't stomach seeing anymore of them, "they kept in their personal archives." His voice contained such raw anguish that even the other three could feel the pain.

She crushed him to her as a relentless wave of tears poured out from her. Maureen's body was wracked by a paralyzing grief. Her mother whom she idolized violated in the worse possible way for years and there was absolutely nothing she could have done.

He knew it, her mind furiously flickering thorough a chaotic jumble of thoughts and images. Daddy could have done something. Grief instantaneously turned to a white hot rage. Shoving Jarod roughly away from her, who wasn't prepared for this unexpected action, she shot up from the floor, bumping painfully into the coffee table before stumbling out of the office. Maureen fled dazedly back to her bedroom.

Jarod and Tim rushed after her. Before entering Parker's bedroom, Jarod told his friend, "Stay here Tim. I'll call for you if I need help calming her down." Right then, both men heard something smashed inside her bedroom. Jarod gave one last look at Tim then, face grim, he barreled in through the open doorway.

* * *

Jarod wasn't sure what to expect next from the heartbroken woman seated before. _So lost_, the trained analyst within him observed. 

Disregarding any fears of how she might react, he bent down behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm here when you need me. I promise I'll be here for you, Maureen," he tenderly said to her.

Jarod's words and presence barely registered in Maureen's mind as she continued to look at her mother's picture. She shook her head again over and over, tendrils of her hair, flying about her, trying to deny Jarod's terrible information from her mind.

In the midst of her headshaking and through her tears, she glimpsed the torn picture of her so-called Daddy lying on the floor where she dropped it.

Seeing Mr. Parker there smiling made her snapped. Falling out of the chair, lying on the floor, she crawled over to the torn picture and tore it to pieces. The smiling face of Mr. Parker quickly disappeared with each rip, each tear from a crushed little girl.

The Pretender picked her up and held onto her as Maureen flailed about in his arms, screaming out her rage and grief. The little girl who loved her mother wanted to smash things, kill anyone who stood in her way. Blindly, she pounded her fists into Jarod's body heedless of the pain she was inflicting on him.

He didn't care. Pain was an old enemy. An old companion he's grown inured to over the years. He would endure it just once more to see her not suffer anymore. He began to cry along with her, sharing her misery.

She felt like she was being torn apart by the feelings she was experiencing. Anger, sadness, betrayal surged within her as the face of the man she called "Daddy" loomed before her. It was too much. Darkness blessedly engulfed her.

* * *

**A/N2:** Well, I'm done with my original Ch18. I recommend that you read Chapters 18-20 straight through in order to understand what I was writing about. 

I don't know when the next chapter will be published since I haven't written it yet.

Speaking of further chapters, I got three more and that's it for this story. Of course, those three chapters will probably be long since that's how they're turning out.

I wrote this part to show how dark the Centre can be. In an environment like this, anything goes because all the self-restraints we impose on ourselves and reinforced by societal restraints also are no longer present.

I had to replace the earlier version with this one because I forgot to add the adult theme warning at the beginning. Sorry.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 21

_Multiple personalities._

Her diagnosis. Staring into the mirror, Maureen saw a gaunt faced woman with a sallow complexion and dark circles around her eyes. The stress, the exhaustion, the pain all left their indelible marks on her.

Turning the faucet on, as she broke her gaze away from her reflection, the haunted woman splashed her face with the welcome cold water. Several times she did this, trying to shake off the lethargy and weariness from her body. A body with a mind that was numbed to the point of paralysis. It was only through her devotion to taking care of Jarod combined with his annoying reciprocal devotion to her, which got her out of bed each day ever since finding out all the barbarities of the Centre.

Her mother raped. Faith murdered. Daddy wasn't daddy. Jacob her father. The ugly Parker Legacy. On and on and on.

Maureen looked up at her face again. Droplets of water dripped down her face concealing the tears. Maureen wondered how anyone could take what she went through and still stay sane much less live. If anyone had barged in on her right now, they would have seen her body trembling as she determinedly held on to the porcelain edge of the sink.

_Identity crisis._

The other diagnosis. She grew up infused, no she amended with one firm shake of her head, brainwashed with the belief that she was a Parker, only to have Jar telling her it was all a lie. A name, a life, a self scoured away with just a few words from the man she loved.

Dr. Tushar would probably admonish her that he was the shrink, not her. But she would tell herself that having multiple personalities was one reason she was in the psychiatrist's bathroom right now.

The little girl that Jarod, loved and still love, wanted back. The sister who shed tears over a girl she hardly knew but loved unconditionally. The loving daughter who worshipped her mother but was lied to by that very same mother. The Centre's Ice Queen, the perfect servant who sought the affections and approval of a man she grew up believing to be her father but turned out to be anything but that. The offspring of a man she was ordered to kill. The newly revealed niece of a man she wanted to be her father, warts and all. The best friend of a boy whom she befriended but mocked and slandered as a grown man.

A blank slate. An empty shell. An enigma. Now, it was up to Jarod's therapist to unravel and piece back together the puzzle that went by the name of Maureen NMN Parker.

_God_, closing her eyes, as she took several gulps of air to tamp down her rage, she really have to contact Chang as soon as possible. She needed to get started on having her name changed. Maureen hated having that name hanging around her like an albatross.

Drying her hands and face Maureen straightened up. She looked like hell as she took in her appearance one last time. Shaking her head at the futility of concealing something that wasn't concealable, she carefully adjusted her business suit and took a deep breath.

Opening the door, she walked slowly down the short hallway to Tushar's office. Just past the doorway, Maureen took in the sight of the slight Indian-American filling out some paperwork.

"Documenting me already, doctor?" Maureen joked half-heartedly. Even to her it sounded lame.

"No, Maureen. I wish it was that simple. Just meeting some HMO requirements," he replied, in his familiar laidback voice. The doctor kept quiet about the haggard appearance of his newest patient but he was going to talk to Jarod about her condition afterwards.

"My sympathies." Maureen took in the quiet sedate atmosphere of the office. Shelves overflowing with books and journals, walls made of wood paneling, planters strategically placed to bring in something natural to spruce up the place, subdued lighting to help a patient relax and open up, a sofa, and a couple of chairs. She gathered herself and headed reluctantly back to the chair she left earlier to go to the bathroom.

The doctor graced her with a wry smile as he waited for her to sit down in the plush brown leather chair that he set aside for his patients.

"Are you ready to start, Miss Parker?" he began, but before he went further, the doctor was swiftly interrupted.

An enraged woman swiftly stalked out of the chair, slamming her hands down on the mahogany desk, as she shoved her face right into Tushar's, almost hitting the unruffled doctor.

"Never, ever, call me Miss Parker," seethed Maureen vehemently, the venom evident in her growling voice. She told him that at their first aborted session recollecting how Jarod had just finished filling out the paperwork for the receptionist when Dr. Tushar came out of the office intending to introduce himself to his newest patient. Innocently, he addressed her as Miss Parker. What he and Jarod didn't plan on was that her emotional wounds were still so raw that bringing up that hated surname set her off.

She yelled and flailed wildly at the stunned psychiatrist. Jarod tried to calm her down but she didn't pay any heed to him. Left off-balance by this unforeseen outburst, the Pretender barely managed to get her out of the office. Later, she found out that Jar called the doctor and apologize on her behalf and to reschedule the session.

Now, here she was again. Getting ready to have her mind shrunk by a shrink who should have remembered what happened the last time he tried to call her by that hated name.

Fighting the instinctive urge to back away from his fiery patient, he asked her, in a soothing tone, "Why do you not want to be called Miss Parker?"

Backing away from his desk, Maureen re-took her seat, pissed at having to remind the doctor not to call her by that hated last name. Pinning him with a long, heated look, she grudgingly spoke after mentally debating whether to answer him or not. "I am not a Parker. They are not my family. I am nothing like them."

"What are they?" Tushar asked her in a melodic voice in order to draw her out. The doctor knew whom she was talking about but he wanted her to say it aloud. "How are you not like them, Maureen?"

_Why does he want me to talk about those two bastards?_ she groused. Seeing the expectant look on him, she knew from hanging around Syd too often, that he would patiently outwait her until she gave in and tell him what he wanted to know.

"You know who I'm talking about, doctor," an irritated Maureen said. "The tag team of evil. Mr. Parker and Dr. Raines." Volcanic rage once more surged through her body, making her dig her nails into her chair's arms as adrenaline poured into her bloodstream. The urge to kill those two murderers and rapists slowly, _very slowly, _crowded everything out of her mind.

Tushar displayed a thin involuntary smile at her biting description of the Parker brothers. He couldn't blame her for her hostility, not after Jarod described to him what they did to her real family and their vile plans for her. Plus, he saw, after Jarod's revelations, the DSAs which graphically showed what those two had done in the name of the Parker Legacy.

Opening his notebook and picking up his 24 carat gold pen, Tushar shifted his body into a more attentive posture. "Tell me how you feel about your father." He waited until he saw her about to speak, then he pounced. "Mr. Parker."

"He's not my father!" roared Maureen vehemently. Her hands turned into fists as she used them to pound the chair's armrests. "I'll never call him my father!"

The doctor sat still for minutes until the storm abated then said, "You're right." Stop. "You called him Daddy." He waited for the inevitable explosion. Tushar was not disappointed.

"Fuck you!" an enraged woman shot out of her chair and stalked over to the door. Her body was visibly shaking with anger as she violently pulled the door open, letting it banged loudly into the wall, and stormed out.

The psychiatrist sighed heavily. Yet another of his patient stormed out leaving a very visible mark of their wounded psyche on his office wall. Once more, the recently patched hole in the wall just got damaged. Building maintenance was not going to be happy with him. Again.

* * *

Maureen wanted to kick Tushar's ass but her parole officer would have been unhappy at that prospect. So mad was she that she walked right into Jarod.

"Maureen?" puffed out Jarod, as he recovered from the collision. The therapy session was only about twenty minutes long when she stormed out of Tushar's office. "What did he say to you?" he asked worriedly. His own experience with the psychiatrist left him with no doubt that the doctor picked at one of her open wounds.

"I don't want to talk about it," Maureen brusquely told him, as she brushed past him eager to get out of there. She needed to get away, to not discuss about that fucking murderer who destroyed her life. _Hell, her entire family._

Jarod was about to speak to her again when he caught Tushar standing in the doorway gazing somberly at the back of the departing woman. He swallowed whatever he was about to say as he waited until the outer door closed behind Maureen.

"You must have a gift for pissing off your patients," Jarod coldly observed. "I'm surprised that you still got a thriving practice."

"Not a gift, Jarod," Tushar said. Giving him a knowing look, he added, "I just have patients who have difficulty facing their problems."

Jarod deliberately adopted an ignorant attitude. "Really."

"Yes, really" replied Tushar blandly, leaving the doorway to step closer to Jarod. "Today's not your day, Jarod. It's Maureen's. Convince her to come back here. Today, if you don't mind." Languidly, he continued. "I did set aside the entire day for her. Just like I did for you when you're having difficulty dealing with issues."

The Pretender fought down a nasty retort as he just grunted.

The doctor took off his glasses to clean them. While he was wiping the lens with his shirt, he told the silent Jarod, "She needs help, Jarod. I can help her but you have to convince her that she can't run away every time I bring up the names of very unpleasant people and the tragic events in her life." Finished cleaning, he put them on and with a shooing motion of his hands, "Well, go on."

After a curt nod to him, Jarod walked out of the doctor's office and chased after Maureen.

* * *

Maureen leaned against the front passenger door, her right foot tapping impatiently for Jar to appear. She looked around the crowded parking lot, feeling the Sun beating down on her. The brunette can tell that it was starting to get hot and humid today. The forecast said it was going to be the start of a heat wave which was one reason why she was eager to get back to the house.

She gnashed her teeth in silent rebuke for not thinking to take her car rather than listened to Jarod who insisted that he drive her for her second session with Dr. Tushar. Now, she had to stand here broiling in the Sun in her stuffy business suit.

Just then, she saw Jar coming out of the medical building's main entrance. Sighing in relief, thinking that they can go home now, she straightened herself away from the Lexus.

When Jarod drew up to her, she said, "Let's get outta here, Jar. I'm starting to feel like a roast in the oven."

Jarod made no move to unlock the door as well as ignoring her pithy remark. Rather, he stood in front of her and took in her appearance. She made a good attempt to look professional but the bags under her eyes, the pained look that seemed to have become a permanent fixture in her blue-gray eyes which were red rimmed, and the lines radiating from her mouth were all indicators of the ordeal she underwent last weekend.

Gathering his thoughts, he spoke gently to her. "We need to go back, Maureen. Dr. Tushar would like to finish his session with you." His personal irritation with the doctor didn't diminish his grudging recognition that Tushar was a very good therapist. It was why he called the psychiatrist on that Sunday morning after Maureen succumbed to all the horrible secrets that her best friends revealed to her.

Maureen glared daggers at her man. "Hell, no." Folding her arms in front of her chest, she emphatically told him, "I'm not going to let that quack school reject poke around my head."

Jarod felt his ire stirring as he heard her answer. He displayed it when he retorted, "What will you do then, huh? Wake up every night screaming from your nightmares?" Giving her a withering look, he added, "Like you have been doing since Sunday?"

Aggravated, and not liking being put on the defensive, she spoke brusquely, "I got things under control, Jar. It was a mistake to come here again. Once was enough with Doc Painless." Letting her hands drop to her sides, she opined, "Now, I understand why you call Tushar a pain in the ass."

"You're right, he is a pain in the ass," agreed Jarod, tamping down his joy at hearing her agree with him on something rather than disagreeing with him because it originated with him. "I hate to admit it but he is a damn good therapist and a better listener. He can help you," then displaying a helpless gesture for her, "because I can't. Not with this."

His deep-seated fear was that Maureen would fall back to her old crutches: pills, alcohol, and her above average capacity for self-denial. Jarod was terrified that if left alone, she might become another damn statistic who succumbed to their addictions and died all alone.

A simulation that he didn't need to dream up at all to be absolutely worried about it coming true. Just as he was beginning to accept her into his life again, and, more worrisome, into his heart.

Her exhaustion, physical and spiritual, temporarily forgotten as she automatically denied what she was hearing coming out of Jarod's mouth. "You have helped me, Jar. You have been there for me since you and Timmy explained all of the Centre's skeletons." Literally, in the Centre's case.

Yes, just like he vowed he would. He was there for her right after Maureen's mind overloaded from all the no longer secrets of the Centre.

* * *

After fainting from her outburst, Jarod picked her up and laid her on her bed. Tim came in, unasked, just in time to help the Pretender pull the blanket up to cover their grief stricken friend.

The two men then took turns watching her; afraid to leave her alone, worried about her condition, mental and physical. Sitting by her bedside, Timmy as well as Jarod, held her hands. But when at last she awoke, she laid curled up in a fetal position, deliberately ignoring her best friends, not wanting to do anything except to hide from a world she no longer understand or be a part of.

Jarod and Timmy would try to talk to her, hoping to coax her out of her shell, all to no avail. The hours passed. Day turned to night. Still, Maureen showed no response. Not even bothering to get up and use the bathroom. The men's fears rose with each passing hour. The fear grew strong enough that the Pretender called the one man who could help. Dr. Tushar, his psychiatrist with whom he had had a long and prickly relationship with ever since the Sears Tower attack. After succinctly describing to the doctor what Maureen was going through and agreeing to do what the doctor recommended for her immediately, Jarod hurriedly agreed to a date and time for Maureen's first session with the psychiatrist.

Done with the annoying doctor, the Pretender followed Tushar's orders. He did everything he could think of to let Maureen know he was with her every step of the way. Jarod rubbing her back, lacing his fingers through hers, whispering youthful memories of their more innocent and fun escapades in the bowels of the sublevels were among the things he tried. Finally, telling Tim that nothing was working, he was going to try one more thing. Something he didn't want to for fear of betraying Rachel's memory but peering down at the motionless woman he had no choice but to try it. It was also something that Tushar would have not condoned if he ever found out about it.

Tim placed his hand on Jarod's shoulder in understanding and left the room. Quelling the jitters inside him, Jarod delicately crawled into her bed and held her. Once more, he brushed his fingers through her brown hair contrasting them to Rachel's vibrant red hair, seeking to comfort Maureen. Quiet stillness filled the room with the only sounds being heard was of two people breathing, almost in sync.

The couple stayed that way, with Jarod stirring occasionally only when Tim popped in to check up on him and to bring them some light snacks which stayed untouched and water that only Jarod sipped haphazardly.

Ultimately giving in to his frustrations and worries, Jarod picked her up and took her into the bathroom to clean her up. Maureen didn't resist as she lay limp in his arms.

He was finally gratified to see the first response from her as she haltingly took care of her bodily functions, giving her the privacy by turning his back on her, and then helping her into the shower. Jarod, however, wasn't going to leave her alone, still frightened of what she might do if left unattended.

After assisting her out of the shower stall, Jarod helped her dry off, all the time keeping his eye firmly locked on her face. Once that was accomplished, they slowly walked back into the bedroom.

Rather than heading back to the bed, Maureen wordlessly guided them to the chair by the window. Using some pressure of her hand she indicated to Jarod to sit down first on the chair. He carefully sat down, unsure what to expect next from the disconsolate and heartbroken woman.

Jarod didn't need to wait long for his answer as once Maureen saw him seated comfortably, she quickly sat down on his lap and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and her arms lay on his chest.

Instinctively, the former prisoner of the Centre wrapped his arms around her. "Maureen?" whispered Jarod, hoping she would speak.

A low pitched keening noise emitted from Maureen. She squeezed closer, switching her arms from his chest to around his chest, and drawing her legs under her. Catherine's daughter closed her eyes as she continued to remain silent.

It was an awkward position for her, Jarod perceived, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he moved his hands slowly up and down her back trying to figure out another way to get through to her.

He was slightly gladdened that Maureen chose not to go straight back to bed right away but rather to the chair where they were now sitting on. Maybe…, he began, when she chose that moment to break her silence.

"Warm," slurred Maureen. She remained still as she began talking once more.

Jarod darted his eye down to her when he heard her spoke up for the first time since blacking out. Smoothing her straight brown hair, he told her softly, "It is getting warm. Do you want to go somewhere cooler, Maureen?" The sunlight pouring in through the window was getting warmer with each passing minute he noticed.

"No," she shot out, her voice an octave higher. With less force, she repeated, "No." Tightening her hold on Jarod, she tacked on, "You're warm."

The scarred man was rendered speechless by her declaration. Instead, what he did was to pull her in just a little closer and gave her a peck on the forehead.

Their "moments" were happening on a regular basis now. No, shaking his head gently not wanting to disturb her, they were becoming routine. He was taking a step into the known, not the unknown. He knew how this relationship would end up if he permit it. He was the only obstacle preventing it from happening.

The question was _when_ not if, finally admitting it to himself. That little boy in him wanted her, all of her. While the broken, wounded man never want to hurt again. The hurt of losing someone you love more than life itself. Rachel's smiling face appeared again before his mind's eye.

Just now, with Maureen fiercely gripping him, as if afraid of being swept away in a storm, Jarod had to take care of her immediate needs and worry about their future later.

"Look at me," ordered Jarod softly, not wanting to upset her. But he had to get her out of her cocoon.

She whimpered out, "No." Maureen just crushed their bodies closer.

Putting his right hand carefully under her chin, he gently forced her head up so he could make eye contact with her.

Jarod sighed heavily. Her eyes were tightly shut. "Maureen, I want to help you. Tim wants to help you." Swallowing hard because he knew was about to take a momentous step forward. The lonely boy won this round. "Trust me, Maureen." He touched his forehead to hers. "Come back to me, please…"

Maureen didn't want to open her eyes again. The way she had to earlier when Jarod carried her into the bathroom and made her attend to her body. She couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror.

She didn't know who or what she was anymore. Maureen wasn't even sure how to respond to the hidden secrets, the terrible lies, and the horrific abuses that Jarod and Timmy disclosed which overwhelmed her.

Momma's…heart clenching…rapes at the hands of Raines was the last straw. Maureen didn't want to go on anymore. She wanted to curl up and just die. To be with Momma and Faith forever and away from this cruel and unforgiving life. A life that brought her tears rather than laughter, more pain less joy, nightmares instead of peace.

But in that darkness there was a light. A light that refuse to be snuff out. A light that brought her warmth and solace when nothing else comforted in her despair and pain.

Jarod.

She didn't want to listen to him as he devotedly told her how he and Tim cared about her, how concerned they were, and that they were there for her. Jar delicately reminding her of their happier Centre exploits. She didn't want to listen to that hypnotic voice. Nevertheless, she did listen because his voice was the calm eye of the storm that was tearing her apart.

Then a word and a plea from Jar broke through her melancholia.

Trust. Come back.

Maureen always trusted Jarod. Even when she was ordered to bring him back to the Black Hole of Delaware. She lost Jarod once resulting in a destiny thwarted. Upon regaining her freedom, she vowed never to let that ever happen again.

Unwillingly, Maureen opened her eyes and slowly pulled away from their contact. She saw Jar's remaining brown eye and its companion black eye patch watching her. The worry so evident, not just in the eye, but in the way his scarred face was tensed up.

"Maureen," Jarod hissed in relief. She felt him kissing her again on the forehead. "Stay with me."

"Jarod," she said in a small voice. Maureen couldn't form words because she literally didn't know where to begin.

Did it begin with the scrolls, the Parker Legacy, Momma's love affair, or one of the other ugly Centre cover-ups that her two friends exposed to her?

The Pretender took in the hurt, bewilderment, disillusionment so expressive in her hollowed out eyes. He felt her struggling to come to terms with what she learned, trying to make sense of what was happening to her.

"Hi," a careful half-grin appeared on his face as his lovingly brushed her hair away from her face. "Do you want to talk?" His voice was soft and gentle. The last thing he wanted right now was for her to withdraw back into her shell. "Are you hungry?"

Maureen wasn't ready to talk about the collapse of her so-call life. And though she felt her hungry stomach rumbled she ignored it as she tried to recall what she did before blacking out.

Vaguely, the daughter of Catherine and Jacob remembered lashing out at someone. A convenient target for her to unleash her anger and pain. No, she corrected, sitting up and staring at his wearied and unshaven face. It was Jarod.

"I hurt you," she said distressingly, upset at what she did to him. She let her arms drop from his chest and cradled his face. Her long legs, cramped from their position, shifted to rest over one of the armrests. Maureen felt guilt cropping up for hurting the one man she never, ever wanted to hurt anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Shh," soothed Jarod. "You didn't hurt me that bad." He wanted to tell Maureen a little white lie to prevent her from becoming more distraught than she already was. However, the Pretender wouldn't lie to her. No matter how justified it may seem. Her life already had more than its share of lies. Ruefully and very painfully, he was reminded of how strong she can be. His torso bore prominent reminders of her grief-tinged outburst but he wasn't going to show them to her.

"Not that bad?" worry colored her question. She slowly ran her hands over his jaw feeling her fingers tickled by the stubble there. "What do you mean by that?"

A succoring smile appeared, trying to allay her concern. "Just a few bruises." Jarod couldn't suppress a moan of pleasure as her hands traced the outline of his face. He remembered, without any pain now, the last time something like this was done. Back when Rachel was still alive.

Unplanned and unintentionally, Jarod got her out of her protective cocoon by diverting her attention to something else other than the Centre's horrors.

"Let me see," demanded Maureen, as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Jarod was uncomfortable. The last time he let her see his body was that wondrous night when he almost gave in to his feelings for her and told her he trusted her. A night with its share of turning points.

Maureen can tell he was discomfited by her request. In fact, as she slowly fought her way out of the despair she was wallowing in, taking care of Jarod was the perfect antidote for what was afflicting her. Something she can use to help her subconscious process the life changing ramifications of the Centre's secrets on her. "Jarod?" she nudged softly.

"Lean back a little," he told her, giving in to her entreaty. When she complied, Jarod reached down and carefully pulled up his black t-shirt.

Maureen was rooted in place when she saw the revolting bruises on his already scarred torso. Her lips trembled, "Oh, Jar. I'm so sorry." Carefully, she placed her hands on his upper chest where the majority of bruises were located. Locking gazes with him, she said as the earlier shakiness in her voice was replaced with a more assured tone, "We need to ice this down. C'mon." She got up carefully from Jarod's lap, heedful of his injuries. Maureen held her hand out to him.

Jarod attention was riveted on her outstretched hand. Emotions that died with Rachel resurfaced as he continued to stare at it. Taking a deep breath he reached out and placed his hand in hers.

"Let's go get the ice," announced Maureen, all too aware of what was going on in Jar's heart.

* * *

"Trust me."

Jarod's request hung between them. Maureen shifted uneasily, torn between her wish to get back to the house and his desire for her to go back to see Dr. Tushar. The aggravating thing was that he was using her trust in him to do what he wanted.

The Pretender saw the uncertainty in her stance. He didn't blame her. Her carefully constructed life as a Parker, as a Centre operative, the methodically crafted image of her family were pulled right out from under her. Jarod thought guiltily that it was he who did it to her. So far, she didn't accused him or blame him for her predicament. But he wouldn't be surprise if that prospect didn't crop up sometime soon.

Picking his words carefully, Jarod said to her, "I would never take you to him if I didn't thought it wasn't good for your health. You know that I would never hurt you." In that instant, Jarod chose to use something on her that he hadn't used since they were children. He flashed her his puppy eye look. The Pretender knew that she was extremely vulnerable to it.

Maureen breathed heavily. She did know that Jar wouldn't hurt her. The warmth and evident concern in his voice and manner as he helped her through the last several days made it very clear that hurting her was not on his agenda. Far from it.

"He better have his insurance paid up," Maureen grudgingly said, giving in to Jarod's look. She bit back a giggle at seeing the puppy dog look on him. Even with one eye it was still devastatingly effective.

"I'm sure Tushar got that covered. Why?" asked a puzzled Jarod.

Striding slowly back to the doctor's office, forcing Jarod to back up, she answered, "If that shrink of yours start asking me if I have an Electra complex, he's going to wind up with my foot up his ass."

Jarod couldn't help but grin. Deeply wounded and bearing new scars, Maureen was bowed, bloodied, but not broken. She _was _coming back and he was falling…

* * *

**A/N:** This is just a prologue for my upcoming chapters that I'll be posting in the next several days after editing and revising. The forthcoming chapters will comprise my original chapter 21. Ninety five pages, including this chapter, of Miss Parker for your reading pleasure.

As part of my plot, Miss Parker will be psychoanalyzed. In reading the Pretender fanfics here, I noticed there were little, if any, stories examining her mental and emotional baggage, for the lack of a better word.

Therefore, I'm taking it upon myself to give it a shot at having her head examined. The JMPR will be on the periphery while we concentrate on Miss Parker and her psychiatrist.

If you're wondering where this came from, it's part of my original plot. So far, I've stuck with it and am still pleased with the direction of my story.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 22

**Jarod**

Tushar was seated opposite her. He held a pen and a notebook. Next to him, on the end table, was a digital voice recorder.

A tense Maureen faced her inquisitor. The same sweaty palms, pounding heart, and dry mouth that she experienced while being interrogated by the FBI, DEA, ATF, and the other alphabet letter federal agencies after the fall of the Centre were back in force. The only differences, as far as she can tell, was this office was much cozier and the man sitting across from her wasn't a cop or a spy.

It didn't calm her though. A stranger was going to poke and prod and dig through her emotions, her thoughts, and her memories. An outlook she found alarming. Sharing Jarod's feelings, she hated being observed by strangers ever since childhood.

"Where do you like to begin, Maureen?" began Dr. Tushar.

"Do I have a choice? I thought you would tell me where to start," she shot back, her nervousness making her combative.

Tushar inwardly groaned. Too many of his patients, like Maureen, had a preconceived notion of what a psychiatric session was going to be like. He blamed Hollywood and its unrealistic portrayals for creating these difficulties for him.

"No," answered Tushar calmly belying his annoyance, "I want you to be comfortable and at ease as we begin. I will direct you later on once I determine that you're ready for that level." He turned on the recorder. "Now, again, where do you want to start with, Maureen?"

Uncomfortable with the initiative being thrown into her lap, the woman once known as Parker struggled with the question. Faces, names, and events began appearing and disappearing before her mind's eye. The montage stopped at one particular face.

"Jarod." Her inward looking reverie took her to the man who was always there for her. _Except for those six years, ten months, and fourteen days when he forsaken you_, a tiny embittered part of Maureen sharply reminded herself. She viciously slapped that part of her self down.

Tushar hid his delight behind his carefully contrived blank face. Ever since Chicago, when he and Rachel reviewed the DSAs, he'd been itching to find out more about the enigmatic relationship between Jarod and Miss Parker. Now, with the opportunity that presented itself to him, he hoped to fill in some of the mysterious blanks in Jarod's life. Maybe, he thought on a positive note, he could help heal some more of Jarod's wounded psyche. And, observing the fatigued brunette sitting tensely before him, hers, too.

"Jarod," repeated the doctor. "What about him?" He settled comfortably back in his high backed chair and waited for Maureen to begin.

A momentary silence than taking a deep breath, Maureen plunged in. "Did you know I first met him as part of a Centre experiment? A sexuality experiment?"

Dr. Tushar raised his eyebrows at hearing this and replied noncommittally, "Really?" He knew about it from the DSAs and reading the transcripts of Dr. Greene's interrogations and Jarod's debriefings. But he declined to mention it to his newest patient because he wanted to draw her out. There were a lot of, to use the vernacular, baggage between her and Jarod. Baggage that he itched to open.

"Yeah, really," Maureen said without any particular heat. "Two children, who didn't know any better, were introduced to each other because the adults wanted to find out how Jarod would react to seeing a member of the opposite sex for the very first time."

Tushar remembered Jarod's reaction to seeing Miss Parker for the first time. Now, he can find out what her reaction was. The Indian scribbled a few notes, frowning. His decades of experience were telling him that she was going to be a particularly tough case. Sighing inwardly, _just like Jarod._ Getting her to open up was not going to be easy. Finished writing, he gave her a curious gaze and asked her, "How about you? How did you felt upon seeing Jarod for the first time?"

Maureen's fingers fidgeted until she put a stop to it by folding her hands in her lap. There was no absolute way for her to describe to the prying doctor what went through her mind and heart as she was brought to Jarod by Dad-, Mr. Parker himself.

The way that monster let go of her hand and not so gently pushed her towards the boy sealed off inside that bubble. Unsure of herself, nevertheless, she stepped forward not knowing what to expect. Then…

Those eyes. His eyes were the first thing she really noticed about him. Curious, sad, excited they were. Hypnotic, too. The unsteady trudging of her feet quickly changed to confidence and assuredness as she walked up to Jar.

Matching his motion, her right hand reached out to him, to touch him, to feel him. Heart beating faster… Until that glass barrier stopped them. The torturous symbol of their relationship preventing their yearning for each other. The love that they were meant to share with each other.

Maureen was dubious if the doctor could ever understand that, notwithstanding that glass barrier, they made a lifetime connection. A connection that she never experienced with anyone. Not Momma, not Thomas, not anyone. A connection that she was determined to heal and reclaim what was rightfully hers.

_Jarod._

Belatedly, to illustrate just what Jarod did to her, she ceded to her rarely used poetic side.

A lusterless world awashed in gray until she stepped through a door entering a world full of color, suffused in light, and a warmth that drove away a coldness that always lurked in her. A completeness that filled the empty void in her life.

Until a dark storm by the name of Parker almost took it away from her for most of her harsh life. Almost.

"Something so wonderful," she huskily whispered in a voice so choked with emotions and sentiments concerning her true love. "Something that is so beautiful that no words will ever describe it."

Tushar's pen slowed to a stop as he heard her barely spoken reply. A silent whistle went through him as he began to discern the depth of her feelings for Jarod.

It occurred to him then and there if Jarod wholeheartedly reciprocated her feelings. He wondered if that was the reason that the scarred man didn't want to discuss his emotional ties with Miss Parker. Narrowing his eyes, he looked back at how vividly uncomfortable Rachel was whenever the name of this woman was brought up in conversation or watched on those DSAs.

Putting thoughts to words, Tushar wrote a reminder to himself to question Jarod at their next session what his current feelings for Maureen are. Done writing, he captured his patient's attention again. "An interesting way to express your feelings for him." Sitting up a little straighter, he asked something that jarred her. "Do you desire him?"

"Um, why would that matter to you," suspicion in her voice. _Of course she desired Jar_, _what woman in her right mind wouldn't?_

The psychiatrist crossed his legs before answering her. "I'm curious to know if you're aware of what you're getting yourself into."

Maureen nodded her head self-assuredly and said in a confident voice, "I know exactly what I'm getting myself into."

"What about his physical disfigurements? Are you repelled by the loss of his arm, his eye, and the scars? Did you consider that he might unconsciously still blame you for what was done to him?"

Uneasiness stirred inside her as the doctor's words worked their way into her psyche, past her self-declared confidence at what she was getting herself into. Letting out a pent up breath, she shamefacedly revealed to him what sort of emotions she was undergoing when it came to Jarod's injuries. "They bother me. His arm. It's so…so stiff and cold. Not like him at all."

She looked at the neutral eyes of Tushar who gave no hint of what was going on inside his mind as he patiently continued to listen to her. "And his eyepatch." The brunette's voice went silent.

"What about his eyepatch?" prompted Dr. Tushar. He noticed the slight stiffening of her body. One of the things he was trained in at medical school was to observe body language. Right now, he was noticing that whatever the eyepatch comment meant it obviously was bothering her.

Before responding to him, Maureen ran her hands through her hair. _A nervous habit like mine?_ the psychiatrist asked himself.

Dropping her hands back to her sides, she answered him. "Jarod's eyes were always the window to his soul. I can always tell what he was feeling, thinking just by looking into them."

"But that hasn't changed. He still got one eye," pointed out the doctor, contradicting her. "You can still see what he's feeling."

Maureen shook her head. "It's not the same. I look at him now and I'm reminded that I lost half of him."

Leaning slightly forward, Dr. Tushar in an arch tone, "So what you're saying is that Jarod is half the man that you remembered?"

"No!" gasped out Maureen, shocked at the implication. Striving to get her scattered thoughts under control, she went on, "No, that's not what I meant." The doctor was rattling her.

"Then what do you mean by losing half of him?" queried the doctor insistently.

Shoring herself up, she admitted something that she never told anyone else. "I was lost in his eyes when I was a child. I felt special every time he looked at me. The way his eyes would light up." A sentimental sigh. "I could look into his alluring eyes forever if you want to know the truth." Looking at the doctor frozen in his chair with his gold pen hanging in the air as he listened raptly to her, she added, "His arms, whenever he held me, made me feel so safe and protected. That no one could hurt me while he's with me."

A quiet moment. The doctor unconsciously clicked his pen several times as he watched her. "Do you feel the same now?" probed Tushar.

"Yes and no." Seeing the puzzlement on his face, she clarified, "Yes, I'm comforted within his arms and my heart still beats faster whenever he looks at me. And, no, because whenever I feel that artificial arm of his on me or look at that eyepatch, it makes me feel like I lost him all over again." Maureen stiffened her spine before finally 'fessing up to her half-man remark. "I never got the chance to have him hold me with both of his arms or to feel special whenever he looked at me with those beautiful eyes of his. We did it as children but not as adults. Sears Tower took that away from me forever."

The psychiatrist seized on what she said. "You lost him all over again." Putting another notation in his notebook, Tushar scratched his chin as he considered what she just gave away. "When did you first lost him?"

Breaking off from looking at his gaze, she quietly told him, "When I was sent to Europe by Mr. Parker." More writing as she listened to his pen worked its way on the notepaper. Maureen waited for the next question.

"The image that you had of Jarod was of a whole man, with all of his limbs, both eyes, and no scars. Right?"

Maureen nodded, "Yes."

"But that image was demolished when you saw the changes to him," Dr. Tushar stated calmly. "Let me guess, you first saw the changes when the Centre was raided by the government. Am I right?"

Another curt nod from her, "Yes, you're right."

"And?"

Maureen felt her anger stir up again. "And, what? I couldn't believe what I saw. It wasn't the Jarod I remembered, the man that I love…" _Shit!_ The bastard got that out of her without her expecting it. She shot a murderous glare at the sedate doctor.

Tushar smiled inwardly at her pissed off expression. _Sometimes, I just really love my job._

"Did you felt anything else? Have your feelings for Jarod changed because of his scarring and missing body parts?"

The woman gritted her teeth as she wrangled with herself whether to continue this session or not. A frustrated sigh as she looked at the door. Jarod was on the other side and he would be pestering her to continue, either today, tomorrow, or whenever. The man was persistent once he made up his mind about something.

"No," she bit out. Now, that the cat was out of the bag Maureen could answer honestly how she felt about Jarod. "I love him. I will always love him no matter how he looks." She added huskily, "I just feel guilty about what happened to him."

"You love him even when you were chasing him while still serving the Centre?" he asked dubiously, taking a quick detour from talking about her guilt.

Maureen stood up with a regal bearing. She couldn't answer his question while sitting on her ass. Looking down on her shrink, she told him, "A part of me deep down loved him even then. But," her shoulders slumped slightly, "I denied what I was feeling for him because I wanted to please Mr. Parker. He made sure that Jarod and I were enemies when we should've been…" _A happily married couple with a couple of rugrats._

Tushar knew he struck a nerve when she stood up. "How does guilt factor in to your feelings for Jarod?" Now, he was back from the detour. He got what he wanted from her.

A pensive feeling overcame her. All those wasted years chasing him down, mercilessly hounding him, listening to his voice filled with self-pity and whining about his circumstances, and… Shaking her head, the attempts to draw her out of her fortress, to reclaim that lost little girl, sighing sadly, the secrets that were clues to her past.

"I drove him away," a slow anger, directed at herself, gradually heating up, "when I shouldn't have." Shooting a bleak gaze at the ever-attentive doctor, she continued. "If I had just said yes to him, go underground with him, I might have saved him from being in Chicago in the first place."

Hearing the self-recrimination coming from her, Dr. Tushar attempted to salve her conscience. "You can't be sure of that, Maureen. You know Jarod is driven by an impulse to help others. It was his way to atone for what he believed was his responsibility for letting the Centre abuse his simulations. In all probabilities, he still would have wound up in Chicago the day the Sears Tower was attacked. The only difference, in my opinion, is that you would have been with him."

An eyebrow rose as she made an observation, "You're not what I expected, doctor." Maureen studied him like a scientist with a bug under the microscope, "Jarod left me the impression that you're a, to use his phrase, a royal pain in the ass."

Dr. Tushar wore a bemused expression. "You were expecting someone lacking a bedside manner and with the sensitivity of a rock?"

Returning his bemused smile with one of her own, she confirmed her impression of the doctor with an indifferent shrug. "Something to that effect. You surprise me."

Shifting in his chair, Tushar decided to enlighten her. Gesturing for her to take her seat, he waited until she did, before he spoke. "In order to treat Jarod successfully, I have to quote, pretend, unquote to be someone that I'm not. A repellent, inconsiderate, insufferable buffoon."

"You don't seem that way to me," Maureen confessed curiously. "But did you have to be someone other than your real self to treat Jarod?"

"Yes, but only in Jarod's case," explained Tushar. "He's a very unique patient. Growing up with a psychiatrist who is not just his mentor, but to all effects, a father figure, he knows psychiatry inside and out. Unfortunately, for Jarod, Dr. Greene's psychiatric methods are the ones he's conditioned growing up to recognize as the role model for a "shrink". I had to be the exact opposite of Dr. Greene to prevent Jarod from clinging to me." Lastly, Tushar added to the figure paying close attention to him, "Not only all the above but he pretended to be a psychiatrist several times. Very effectively, I might add."

He remembered when the Department of Homeland Security and the office of Director of National Intelligence discreetly asked the hospitals that unwittingly hired Jarod as one of their staff psychiatrists to go over his case files to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. Much to their chagrin and surprise, Jarod treated his patients the way that ninety-nine percent of real psychiatrists would have.

"I don't deserve the same treatment as him?"

The dark-haired Indian shook his head gently. "No, you have different issues compared to Jarod so I don't have to pretend to be anyone other than myself. I'm treating you with what I think is the best method for your conditions."

Maureen rotated her head as her neck stiffened up. Not looking at the doctor, she stared at the carpeted floor, processing what Dr. Tushar revealed to her. Then she pinned him with a keen look. "What are my conditions?"

Tapping his lower lip with his left forefinger, he considered what to say to her without disrupting his treatment regimen. Finally, he answered, "I have some preliminary diagnosis but we need to explore more of your life before I can give you definite answers."

Disappointment shone in her eyes as well as impatience. "Then let's get on with it," she said restlessly.

Tushar acceded to her by following up with another probing question. "Now that the Centre is no more and Mr. Parker dead, how does it feel to be able to openly love Jarod?"

"Free. Liberating. Now, I don't have to worry about having a bullet put into my head for loving him. Nor having Jarod getting a bullet for loving me," she added for emphasis. _Like Tommy._

Tushar put down his pen and drummed his fingers along the right armrest. "The environment you grew up in didn't allow for any public display of affection, did it?"

"No," confirmed Maureen in a taut voice. "Momma was the only one that I showed my love. Dad-, Mr. Parker, discouraged it with him. And with Jarod. Especially Jarod." She felt her stomach squeezed painfully as she remembered the harsh lectures that son of a bitch foisted on her about showing any affections towards the Pretender.

"Why did he discourage it?" he pressed her. He waited expectantly for Maureen's answer.

"Mr. Parker told me Jarod was dangerous and stupidly I believed him." Maureen angrily pounded the armrest of her chair once with her hands. Her gullibility made her see red at the duplicity of Mr. Parker. She lost so much time listening to a lying bastard who never cared for her well-being.

"You were a very young girl, Maureen. He was also the man who you believed to be your father."

Maureen exhaled a pent up breath of anger. "He's not my father," she corrected Tushar yet again. Though this time without any rancor. Sadness and regret could be discerned in her next words. "If only Momma didn't fake her death, if only she was there taking my side against that bastard, Jarod and I…" The brown-haired woman couldn't speak as the lost possibility assaulted her once more.

Tushar was appalled yet not really surprised at the ruthless manipulation of a young innocent girl shell shocked by the lost of her mother. He realized this was a moment to reinforce something positive before she got totally consumed by the darkness of her disappointments.

"Maureen," warmth and confidence oozed out of him. Enough of it that it caused Maureen's attention to shift to him. "No matter what the Centre did or how hard Mr. Parker strove to turn you against Jarod, your love for him survived and endured. You never gave up on him."

"He gave up on me," she listlessly countered. The anger vanished to be replaced by depression as Tushar's attempt to cheer her up backfired.

"_Whisky, tango, foxtrot?"_ was Tushar's immediate reaction. _What the fuck?_ He was annoyed that the years of treating the government's damaged agents he reflexively used their jargon.

Backtracking, working hard to prevent any further damage, he counterattacked with another fact. "Jarod's right outside waiting for you. Is that a sign of giving up on you? From where I'm sitting, that's a sign of devotion. Jarod's devotion to _you._" Dr. Tushar made that an emphasis for a doleful Maureen.

"Jar's taking pity on me. He always had a thing for lost causes." The former Miss Parker throat tightened at that. She didn't want to be another of Jar's pet causes. An object that Jarod could take pity on. It would be something that she couldn't accept. Her shredded dignity wouldn't allow it.

Shock therapy, decided Dr. Tushar. He needed to snap her out of her sudden despondency. "That's a load of bull, Maureen. Jarod didn't take you in out of pity, he didn't call me at the end of the day begging me to treat you out of some misplace sympathy," he nodded at the astonishment on her face, "you should have heard the urgency in his voice." Tushar put down his pen and notebook, folded his hands on his lap and gave Maureen a piercing look. "You know the real reason why he did it. Why don't you say it out loud."

Maureen swallowed hard. She hesitated for fear that the doctor would say she was wrong. But she wanted to say it just to hear it for the first time in her life without jeopardizing her life at the hands of the Centre. Also, it would be with a sense of relief that she knew how Jarod felt about her.

Before she said it, she wet her dried lips with the tip of her tongue. Breathing deeply, she told the silently waiting doctor, "Jarod loves me."

Her psychiatrist nodded slowly. "Jarod loves you. He may not be ready to admit it but he does."

A smile burst forth and a bright gleam glowed in the blue-gray orbs of her eyes. "He loves me." She repeated that to herself, to make sure it was real, not some kind of delusion she was creating.

Tushar allowed her a moment to savor that finding and to recover from her attack of the blues. It also gave him time to prepare for the next question.

He coughed, bringing Maureen's attention back to him. "Jarod's a changed man, Maureen. He was married and then lost his wife not so long afterwards. He's no longer living a peripatetic life. He's settled down with a house and a mortgage to pay." He twitched his left hand. "Like you said earlier, he is not the same man anymore. What you have to do is to accept the way he is now. If you want to deepen your relationship with Jarod, this is an obstacle you'll have to overcome."

"I know," Maureen replied with some acerbity. "I'm ready to do that with your help." Just saying that took a lot from her since asking for help was, due to Mr. Parker's ingrained conditioning, a sign of weakness.

Tushar smiled, pleased that Maureen was willing to accept help from him. Picking up his pen and notebook, he asked her, "Ready for the next question?"

"Shoot," she answered. Maureen felt slightly better, knowing that Jarod loved her. Though she wasn't happy that he was not prepared to acknowledge their love. Every tick of the clock meant that they already lost too much precious time. Time they can never get back.

"Were you serious about capturing Jarod when Mr. Parker gave you the assignment to bring him back?"

Maureen drew a breath as the question brought up the most important decision of her event-filled life. "When I started, I _was_ serious. Serious at bringing in monkey boy," a grin at the amused doctor, "and walking away from the Centre. That was the deal Mr. Parker offered to me."

Having read Mr. Parker's profile, a prolific pathological liar, he was one hundred percent sure that he would have reneged on the deal. However, he let it bide until he and Maureen have a session with Mr. Parker as the main topic.

A nagging thought occurred to him as the humorous moment ended. "Why did he assign you to capturing Jarod, knowing your history with him? It was a considerable risk to him and Raines if you turned on them."

Maureen adjusted her dress as she drew her legs in and sat in a lotus position on her chair. It didn't look comfortable to Tushar but Maureen made it look easy. Now comfortable, she addressed his question. "My best guess is that it was a test, doctor. If I did capture Jarod, than the fucker would have known that my conditioning was complete. It would go a long way towards getting some serious payback from Momma if I turned out to be the complete antithesis of her. I would have been what he wanted. A conscienceless Centre pawn obeying every whim of the Parkers."

The psychiatrist stopped writing as he stared at her. He couldn't say it surprised him. Jarod said as much when he went on one of his angry rants against the Parkers and what they did to him and, by inference, to Miss Parker. "You went along with it." It was a statement. His instincts were telling him that she was eager to carry Mr. Parker's order.

Shame, guilt, and contriteness took their turns going through her heart as she reluctantly confirmed her doctor's suspicion. "I was desperate to get out of the Centre and I didn't want to think of Jar as a human being. I wanted to think of him as just an object, an it, so it would be easier for me to capture him."

"What changed your mind, Maureen?" Tushar's notebook laid on his end table unnoticed as he got caught up in the drama of Maureen's choice.

Maureen fought for tranquility, to overcome the tumultuous guilt stricken conscience that wouldn't ease up on her. She sighed, letting go of a breath she held back in longer than normal.

"Jar contacted me after he escaped. He kept calling me, leaving me gifts, really clues to my past, even after I told him to leave me alone." Her lips curved into a beautiful smile. "Jar brought back memories of what he meant to me. I tried to fight it. I even fell in love with Thomas, which I realized was not really love but as a way to escape from my feelings for Jarod. But nothing would work. Doctor, I couldn't stop loving Jar if my life depended on it."

Tushar rubbed his forehead with a hand that then drifted up to run through his hair. He meandered through a strange idea of writing a book about Jarod and Maureen's lives. It would've been one hell of a love story to write. But then, no one would have believed it since it would have been too far fetched to be real.

"What did you do after you changed your mind?" he asked her with a lot of curiosity burning inside him.

"I secretly fought back. I didn't want to bring in Jarod anymore. I wanted him to be free and safe and as far away as possible from the Centre."

Flipping a page already filled with his observations over, Tushar wrote down her statement and some more tidbits that he 'd later analyze after the session was over. Finished writing, he looked up and stared at her. "How did you fight back? Why didn't you just run away or go to the government?"

Maureen braced her shoulders as she disclosed her secret war with the Centre to him. "I chose to stay behind to make sure that nobody could capture Jarod. I always made sure that I came so close to capturing Jar that the Parkers wouldn't be suspicious of me and just good enough that they wouldn't take me off the chase and putting in someone who actually could capture Jarod."

"Is that it?" Tushar asked with some doubt.

"No." Her hands moved of their own accord along her thighs, feeling the fabric of her red dress underneath her skin. "Sydney, Broots, and Timmy needed my protection from the Parkers and my brother. They would have been held hostage and used against Jar and I if they knew how much we loved about them." _Not to mention being subjected to Raines' mad experiments and Lyle's sadism if we didn't come in._

Perched on the edge of his chair, Tushar made a gesturing wave with his in understanding. "Hmm, I can see why you did it. So, Maureen, you were capable of self-sacrifice." He fell silent as he debated whether to include this in his notes or not. Being capable of self-sacrifice for someone else was a good sign, an indicator that she wasn't so damaged like her brother as to be unsalvageable. Moreover, Maureen's revelation showed that she wasn't a narcissist whose self-absorption would have prevented her from caring for others.

Maureen gave off a distinct coolness towards her doctor. "You think I'm just a self-absorbed, selfish person? I assure you, _doctor_, that I'm quite capable of sacrificing myself for others."

Tushar shrugged apologetically to her, "I'm sure you are." Rubbing his chin in thought, he said softly, "Going to prison for Jarod was a big sacrifice for you."

Maureen refused to look away from the psychiatrist, though everything in her begged her to do so. Her eyes were filling up again. "Do you know why I'm crying?" Seeing him shake his head in negation, she filled him in. "Because I'm thinking of all the lost years that I could have been with Jarod. We would've had a family by now. I gave up my happiness for him, doctor. He married Rachel, living the life that I've wanted with him since I first set eyes on him. I wanted to have his children, he always loved being around children, making them happy, he…" She had to stop. Her heart was breaking. _Damn you_, she thought viciously at Tushar for bringing up this wound that just wouldn't heal.

An awkward silence as Tushar furiously recorded what he heard. Completed, he switched topics deciding that the subject of her sacrifice was going to be reserved for another day.

Tactfully, he ventured to ask of her, ""Is Jarod still angry at you?"

Maureen's body stiffened in offense and bewilderment. "What the hell are you talking about?" She quickly wiped away her tears as Tushar verbally hit her with a bat.

The Indian waited for Maureen to calm down. Or, as much as she was going to be, he thought to himself dryly. Once she settled down, he began his explanation. "You've chased Jarod for over five years, prevented him from reuniting his family, and made him move from one location to another. If I were in his place, I would've have been extremely angry."

"I told Jar why I did it!" she shot back, put on the defensive. "He understood my reasoning."

"But did you say, 'I'm sorry' to him?" Tushar pushed her for an answer.

Maureen responded tartly, "I don't need to, doctor. Because I already." She expanded her explanation when Tushar displayed an interested gleam in his brown eyes. "When I reentered his life, it was one of the first things I said to him." The meeting didn't go the way she planned it and, come to think of it, she never heard Jarod say that he forgave her. Not at that first meeting or afterwards. Reluctantly, she informed the doctor of this. "Jarod never did say he forgave me for my actions towards him and his family."

Tushar must have read her mind since he advised her, "You need, both of you, need to discuss your mutual past. It's going to stay a very sore spot between the two of you, whether you or Jarod realize it or not, until you come to grips with it. I recommend that you do it soon, Maureen, since both of you seemed to be on the brink of starting something together. Nip it in the bud before it gets worse."

Maureen, the ex-Miss Parker, collapsed against the back of her chair. "I hate to say it but I think you're right."

"Of course, I'm right," Tushar proclaimed. Sometimes injecting a slice of humor help his patients relax after a trying line of probing.

Maureen gave him a warning look. "Well, don't let it get to your head. You're not perfect." Her wry grin took the sting out of her words.

Both of them, patient and doctor, took a breather from their session. In a extreme case like Maureen, it was draining and trying for both the healer and the one seeking to be healed.

Maureen had her head resting on the chair back when she burst out with an observation. "Did you know doctor that Jarod was the only one who still kept reminding me of what I wanted to be when I grew up?" It pained her that Jar was the only person who kept reminding her of her childhood dreams. Everyone else scoffed at her and actively worked to discourage her from realizing her goals.

"And what would that be?" Tushar was cheered by Maureen's willingness to volunteer information rather than having actively working to root them out of her.

She hesitated because she'd never told anyone, other than Jarod, what her dreams were. Dreams that she thought was possible before the nightmare that was the Centre took hold of her and turned them into ashes.

"I, uh," Maureen nervously started. She scratched her cheek, a sign of her anxiety. However, in spite of it, she continued on. "I wanted to be a lawyer helping the weak and the abused," a very ironic smile touched her lips as she remembered the context she used that phrase while she was chasing the Pretender, "just like Momma was doing with her life." She faltered a bit as the next thing she wanted may still be achievable. "I was, as you already know, wanted to be married with children. To be precise, doctor, Jarod's wife and the mother of his children."

Tushar's eyes roamed over her body with a studied look. She was more relaxed and at eased than at any other time he was treating her. Her hands folded in her lap, eyes closed, gave any casual observer the idea that she was napping in a very awkward position.

"You're still young, Maureen. You can still have your dreams come true," he encouraged her. "Hard work, perseverance, and commitment will see you through." He believed it because he lived it as well as his parents. A son of immigrants, a first generation American, his family and him were vivid evidence of what setting your heart and mind to do can accomplish.

"You think so?" Maureen asked cautiously, hope warring with doubts in her mind, as she briefly raised her head to ask the question before resting it back on the chair back.

The psychiatrist made his voice carried no doubt in it as he answered her. "I believe it. I want to know if you believe it."

There was only one answer to that. An answer already formed the day she walked out of her prison and entered Jarod's life again. Even if the ghost of Mr. Parker still whispered, though in a diminished voice every time she came here and every single day she was with Jar, that it wasn't going to happen, that he would make sure it never happen.

"I believe it with every fiber in my body, doctor."

"Good," grunted Tushar, a rare warmth showed in his voice. He was engulfed with a sense of satisfaction at hearing no traces of doubt in Maureen's voice. He sincerely hoped that she and Jarod could begin, in their case, renew their relationship in a smoother fashion rather than a rocky one.

Thinking about them, he asked the still relaxed woman, "What does Jarod do to you if you decide to pursue a relationship with him?"

"He makes me happy." Maureen's eyes opened as she conveyed through her entire body and voice that absolute certainty to the slender psychiatrist.

The Indian took note of it on his notebook. Raising his head to look at her, still with her body at ease, he continued his probing. "What do you want out of it, Maureen?"

An genuine heartfelt part plea/part prayer, "A happy ending with Jarod."

* * *

**A/N:** This is the first person, it's obvious why, that Miss Parker and Dr. Tushar discussed in their sessions. 

As a reminder to my readers, I locked Sydney away in a federal prison so I am using a original character of my own creation to help her out in her therapy sessions and to move my story along.

Another reminder, I'm not a psychiatrist, so I really don't know what a real psychotherapy session is like. Miss Parker's sessions are the inventions of my fervid imagination.

These chapters of Miss Parker's psychotherapy sessions are snapshots and compressed summations of her sessions. It is obvious that she won't be cured just from reading just these chapters. Her sessions are many months in the timeline of my story and, in fact, she'll be a patient even as I complete this story.

I hope you enjoy this chapter enough to stick around to read and enjoy the next one.

Please read and review.

Thanks!


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 23

**Rachel**

"Let's talk about Rachel." It was another hot and humid summer day outside. Inside, the office was cool and comfortable. That wasn't the case with Maureen when it came to her dead rival.

"I hated her." It came out as a blunt statement. Delivered in a flat tone, it conveyed to the psychiatrist that there was more to it than met the eye. He just needed time to fish it out of her.

That observation was immediately followed by a disapproving frown at what he just heard. Rachel was one of his very good friends. "That's a very harsh declaration for a woman whom you never met and knew, Maureen." He locked away his personal feelings about protecting Rachel's memory in order to concentrate on providing the best care for Maureen. Making a go-on gesture with his left hand, "Please elucidate me on why you hated Rachel."

Maureen didn't respond at first. She shut her eyes as a tidal wave of emotions engulfed her. It always did whenever the issue of the "other woman" popped up.

_Rachel._

She placed her hands on top of her thighs, squeezing them tightly as she inescapably faced her feelings towards Jarod's deceased wife.

Maureen's strong face had a defiant expression as she spoke from the heart. "Rachel had the love of my life as her husband. To know that when Jar made love, it wasn't with me but with Rachel. That he called out her name during their lovemaking, not mine hurts, doctor. It hurts like hell." Furious tears started to appear in her eyes. Fists clenched, she pressed on when she saw the doctor cocking his head towards her, very attentive. "The first thing I wanted to see when I wake up is Jarod lying right next to me and the last thing I wanted to see before I fall asleep is Jarod right there beside me. But it wasn't me," she snarled as she furiously wiped her tears away, "it was that bitch."

Her doctor just sat back, a blank expression on his impassive face. Tushar knew that the new life that Maureen was forging still had to overcome the persona that she inhibited ever since her mother's death and was sent away to Europe.

Miss Parker. A bitch herself, Tushar privately opined. However, he kept that sentiment to himself. Right now, he just sat silently in his leather chair and continued to let Maureen unleash her pent-up self-recriminations, jealousy, and envy in a controlled environment. It was a very necessary act of mental hygiene for the worked up woman.

"Rachel had it all with him." She whirled her head, shoulder length hair flying wildly, still in the grip of her anger. Fists beating in bursts on the seat cushion, Maureen spat out, "She was living my childhood fantasy. That slut took away my Jarod, living happily ever after with him." Her breaths came in gasps now, as the buried jealousy violently erupted out of her. "That fucking whore somehow convinced Jarod to abandon me for her!" Maureen's body was heaving now, assaulted with tears while her body struggled to breathe, gasping hard in drawing enough air through a severely constricted throat.

The psychiatrist winced inwardly at the epithets hurled at Rachel. The outrage he felt and the sudden desire to defend Rachel's honor when she wasn't there to defend herself overwhelmed him again before he struggled mightily to put back in place his doctor persona. The Indian bit his lips as he saw Maureen's emotional turmoil as he watched her grabbed the little vase sitting on top of the end table next to her chair and hurled it violently to the floor.

Maureen paused, chest still heaving, surprised that the vase didn't break. Before she could speak, her doctor provided the answer to the unanswered question.

His voice dry with a trace of an apology, Tushar explained, "You're not my first patient that gave in to her anger and started throwing things about. It became kind of expensive to keep replacing the vases so I bought a plastic one." Getting up from his chair, he strode over to where the vase laid on the floor and placed it back on its original spot on the end table.

Picking up his abandoned notebook and pen, Tushar sat back down in his comfortable chair and calmly told her, "Please continue."

She complied eagerly. "She even got Timmy on her side!" Maureen burst out in another fit of anger. The brunette was outraged that Rachel turned both the man she loved and her only best friends against her. She also grudgingly acceded to the fact that that damn tramp really did accomplish it with two of the most stubborn and loyal men she ever had the pleasure to know.

"Are you finished, Maureen?" as Tushar sat patiently, gritting his teeth at some parts of her tirade, waiting for her to wind down after pouring out her pent up jealousy about Rachel.

"I'll bet Rachel's not even a natural redhead. She probably got a dye job from her damn hairdresser," grumbled Maureen vindictively as her anger finally drained out of her heart.

"Have you finished? Is there anything else you want to add concerning Rachel?" Tushar requested again in a flat monotone.

Without answering him directly, she glanced everywhere about the room but the slight man sitting across from her. The anger was gone. Tears still slid down her cheeks. Now, rushing into that empty space in her heart was another emotion.

Shame.

Here she was, attacking her rival vituperatively, without Rachel alive to fight back. She badly wanted Rachel alive to make the fight fair and square. No flickering doubts of where Jarod's love truly belong with. Hers not Rachel's. Maureen knew in her heart that if Rachel were in front of her right now, she certainly would have wiped the floor with that redhead's ass and kept Jarod all to herself.

She had no illusions though that it was going to be a cakewalk. Jarod was a once in a lifetime catch, and what little she knew of Rachel informed her that the FBI agent was no village idiot. Rachel knew what a prize Jarod was, too. Maureen's instincts told her that it was going to be one hell of a bloody fight. No holds barred, tooth and claw, whatever it took to win Jarod.

Mr. Parker saddled her with many faults, but one thing she'll reluctantly give him credit for was instilling in her a highly competitive streak. A streak that turned her into such an overachiever early in life and a formidable fighter in everything she chose to champion or want.

"I understand that Jarod would never go for the bimbos or the airheads like other men." Staying rooted to her chair, fingers crushing the cushion where she gripped them, Maureen made it clear to the doctor, by pointedly looking at him, what was in her heart, in her mind. "That's why it hurts so damn much. Rachel wasn't a bimbo or an airhead. Was she?" It came out as a misguided hope. Something to ease her shame and guilt over Jarod's dead wife.

Tushar shot her a cool appraising look. The repressed feelings that she buried under layers of icy emotional armor were melting in fits and starts. Concerning Rachel, they were melting rapidly. "No, she wasn't," answering her question. Settling into his comfortable leather chair, Tushar gave Maureen a truncated background on his late friend. "Rachel graduated summa cum laude from her university which resulted in her membership in the Phi Beta Kappa Society. This is in itself remarkable, seeing that she, like you," angry reproof in his eyes, "came from a broken family. Her parents died early, leaving just her and her brother. It was hard for them being dumped from one foster home to another."

Maureen interrupted him, "I didn't know." The shame redoubled in size inside her as Tushar continued with Rachel's biography.

Tushar ignored her comment as he continued. "Unlike your relationship, or lack thereof, with Lyle, she had one with hers. However, it was rocky up to her death." He saw her sitting there, morbid fascination clearly written on her face as more details of her rival were revealed. "She went to medical school and graduated as a psychiatrist. Just like me," throwing a pleased smile at Miss Parker. "She graduated second in her class at the FBI Academy. Her achievements got her put on the fast track which led her to the Violent Crimes Task Force where she eventually met Jarod."

"I'm sorry," she murmured to Rachel's spirit.

"Sorry," Tushar wondered, "about what?"

Paying no heed to him, she apologized again. "I'm sorry." Her pride and jealousy clouded her. Fear, too. Terrified of what Jarod had to say about Rachel and how it impacted and would impact their relationship.

But it didn't justify the insults and epithets thrown at Rachel. Maureen dejectedly wiped her tears away. Before Tushar even spoke up again, she cut in. "How can I make peace with Rachel?"

The doctor highly approved her question. With only the slightest modicum of his help, she was approaching his goal. How to help her overcome her fears and insecurities caused by Rachel Burke.

Ironically, Tushar wouldn't have been surprised, if Rachel, were she alive, would have been in the same tough spot as Maureen. Dealing with the jealousy, fears, and suspicions that would have eventually been raised by Miss Parker aka Maureen Greene.

"The first thing," the mellowed out doctor suggested, "is to say the following." He paused until he got her silent assent. "Rachel Burke-Russell." He waited to see how his suggestion would cause Maureen to react.

A sharp hissing intake of breath and a widening of her eyes. Tushar could feel from where he sat Maureen's stupendous struggle to say aloud Rachel's married name.

Maureen knew the onus was on her. Trading a look with Tushar, she knew that there he was going to be the help of last resort. She put her mind to doing what he suggested.

Rachel Burke-Russell.

_Aargh, I can't even say it!_

"It's just three words, Maureen," prodded Tushar encouragingly. He didn't miss the way her mouth work furiously, but with no sounds emanating from it.

She groused at him, "I know. Dammit, give me some time." Maureen gnashed her teeth resentfully. It was so easy for him. No hang-ups, no baggage. Nothing to worry about.

He wasn't the one who lost her man to another woman. Lost because of all the wrong turning points she took.

Swiftly, with that insight, the suffocating blanket that cocooned her in resentment, jealousy, and spite was gone. "Rachel Burke-Russell." Maureen mouthed her name solicitously.

"There. Now that wasn't bad, was it?" declared the doctor. Another of his small smiles was etched on his face. Tushar's eyes beamed approvingly. "Now, that you're able to say Rachel's name without flinching, let's move on."

Maureen didn't care what the next step Tushar was planning on. She did have an understanding that she needed to unburden herself. To free herself from the self-administered poison that was burning away parts of her soul and to appreciate the memory of Rachel who did something that she couldn't and wouldn't at a point in time of her life.

_Loving Jarod. Caring for him. Being there for him._

She considered that it must have been her Inner Sense at work but the funny thing was

there were no voices. _Could this mysterious Inner Sense work through other means?_ She filed this question away. Maybe she, with Jarod's and Timmy's help, even Ethan's, all of them could finally figure out just what the hell the Inner Sense was and put it to use instead of scratching their collective head every time it butted into their lives. Whatever the case may be, something was telling her to see what Rachel brought into Jarod's life.

"My fault. My fucking fault, doctor. I'm not going to use Rachel as my scapegoat."

Tushar's next step was derailed with Maureen's words. Hurriedly, trying to catch up to wherever she was taking them, he guardedly asked her, "What fault would that be, Maureen?"

Rubbing her knees absently, Maureen puffed out a sigh. "I blamed Rachel for taking Jarod away from me, blamed her for making him fall out of love with me," that still hurts even now, "and blamed her for convincing him to move on and leave me in the past."

"So what you're saying is that you think Jarod walked away from you and Rachel had no part in his decision. Yes?" Tushar deliberately phrased it away from Rachel taking Jarod away from Miss Parker. He wanted to understand if that was what she was explaining to him about.

"Yes," she guiltily admitted. "It was me who pushed him away." A bitter laugh as the tears reappeared. "Partly to protect him, partly because Mr. Parker lied to me about Jarod, but mostly because I was scared of getting closed to anyone else. Momma and Tommy showed me what the cost was."

Tushar just nodded. He already factored in that Maureen was one of those patients who, repressed for so long, unburdening themselves was cathartic.

"All the turning points that Jarod kept bringing up. Well," bitterness shone out of her reddened eyes, "all the turning points that I took were the wrong ones. All the times when I was chasing Jar, he wanted me to run away with him. Subconsciously, I knew that's what he wanted but I wouldn't acknowledge what he was asking of me. The Centre and Mr. Parker were all that I knew and had. Can you believe it, doctor? I chose the Centre and Parker over Jarod!" Her declaration ended with another outburst of tears. Shoulders shook, brown hair bouncing, and the sounds of gasping crying filled the room.

It continued for an indeterminate time until the anguish abated. From recent experience, Maureen rummaged around her purse until she got her handkerchief out. Wiping her eyes and nose, she needed another moment to compose herself.

Tushar finally ventured to say, "You were programmed to place the Centre and Mr. Parker first, Maureen. It's not your fault."

"You're correct about that but it is my fault," emphasized by her right hand pounding the armrest, "for blaming Rachel for something that she had no part of."

Wordlessly, he agreed.

Heartened by his supportive silence, Maureen expanded on her insight. Sucking in a lungful of air, knowing that she needed it, since she was going to say something that she was loathed to admit. "I'm glad she was there for Jar when I couldn't."

Both of Tushar's eyebrows rose in surprise. He was figuring it would take more sessions before she caved in and admitted that Rachel was a positive addition in Jarod's harrowing life.

Maureen felt the guilt and the urge to cry come again but she steeled herself against it. She was going to finish this session without another display of waterworks.

"Seeing what Jarod had gone through," her words brought both of them inventorying Jarod's numerous injuries and near death, "I wish I could have said thank you to her for saving his life and helping him recover from his injuries."

The psychiatrist missed Rachel, never as much as Jarod, but he missed her camaraderie, their shoptalk, and discussing, within their recognized professional barriers, Jarod's well-being.

"Knowing Rachel as I do, she would have accepted your thanks without hesitation."

"She must have been a remarkable woman," Maureen remarked without rancor, still wishing for more information about Rachel and what it was that had Jarod fall in love with her.

There can only be one response to that he thought.

"Yes, she was."

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter is shorter than the one on Jarod. This will be about the average for the rest of my chapters regarding Miss Parker's therapy sessions. With so many characters to write about and real life demanding my time, I had to make it brief.

As my author's note in the last chapter mentioned, these chapters are just snapshots and compression of her sessions with Dr. Tushar.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 24

**Miss Parker**

Doctors don't make house calls anymore. In this age of HMOs, new health care models, and a stifling medical bureaucracy, that was no longer possible or efficient.

Balaji Tushar, MD makes house calls. If you call going to safe houses, underground bunkers, submarines, among other strange and exotic locales house calls. _The places I go for my favorite uncle._ A whimsical smile. _Uncle Sam, that is._

Now, here he was sprawled out in the living room of Jarod's house, not as a family friend, another whimsical smile touched his lips, well, Rachel's friend, correcting himself, but as a doctor making a house call.

Eyeing the woman seated in Jarod's recliner, he tapped his fingers quietly. Maureen was making progress, not steadily though but in fits and starts.

On occasion, there were oddities. Like her refusal to come into his office to talk about herself. Maureen even dug in her heels and threw an actual temper tantrum at Jarod. Poor Jarod had to call him to see if he could come over to conduct their session. Perturbed at the request, nevertheless, Tushar went. His patients always came first.

So here he was, shoes off, with his body stretched out on a sofa with his ever faithful notebook and trusty recorder waiting for today's session to begin.

_Might as well get started_, he told himself. "Maureen, are you ready?"

Maureen ran her feet through the thick carpet. She went barefoot for today's session. She wanted to be extra comfortable to cope with the anxiety of talking about herself.

Just herself.

Someone was going to help her face herself. Holding up a mirror to reveal her flaws and shortcomings. Afraid that she wasn't going to like the woman she was going to find out about. A woman whom she already had a very low opinion of.

Her heartbeat thudded hard, her breathing ragged, and her favorite white sundress was starting to soak up some of her sweat.

"Ready," she croaked out. Her mouth dried out so she took several gulps of water.

He started with a softball question after noticing the agitation vibrating off of her. "When you were children, did you want Jarod to call you Maureen every time the two of you were together?"

"Oh, yes," she responded, relieved at the easy question. Maureen was expecting something more prying to kick off the shrinking. "I wanted to but Mr. Parker told me that I have to insist on everyone, including Jarod, address me as Miss Parker."

"Did he ever ask you why you had to be addressed as Miss Parker? He never tried to push the boundaries by calling your first name out loud to you or being surrounded by others?"

A smile crossed her lips. "You be surprised by the Jarod of yesterday. He was a very obedient boy. So, no, he didn't ask why. He just went along with it." A distant look showed up on her face as Tushar's questions took her back to her youth. "He was only disobedient whenever I was around. Me forcing him to go along on my little jaunts around the Centre."

Tushar stopped right there and laid down his notebook. Crossing his arms, he looked her over. Pursing his lips in feigned wonderment, "Miss Parker was a rebel?"

Chuckling at his intonation, Maureen brushed her brown locks back to her shoulders before replying. "No." Stop. "A hellraiser." Her jitters were calmed a bit with that spot of levity. She had to give him credit for helping her to relax.

Picking up his notebook once again, Tushar resumed his questioning. "When did you begin your hellraising?"

"When did it start?" Rocking several times in the recliner in thoughtful pose, Maureen went back a whiles, pulling the curtains apart on her far distant past. "Good question, doctor."

Outside of her treasured outings with Momma, and the extremely rare family gatherings with both Momma and the rat bastard, the eight hundred pound gorilla of her _extremely _interesting life was the Centre and those who inhabit it.

The closest to her in that stygian gloom was Jarod. Always Jarod.

And Timmy, of course.

Inside her tightly wound body, Maureen felt the coil relax fractionally. Sparing Dr. Tushar a despondent downward turn of her lips, she said, "I was one of the few children in the Centre and the only that I know of that was not a prisoner," wrong turn of words, "I stand corrected, the only child given free rein there."

"And this has to do with you raising hell how?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

"It was a lonely life." A tremendous understatement. "Why else do I memorize each day where I had Jar, and to a lesser extent, Timmy, playing with me. I was home schooled so there was no reason for recess, no other kids to interact with. Then the asswipe shipped me overnight like I was a package to Europe after Momma's _suicide_."

The psychiatrist rubbed his chin scrutinizing Maureen. She was wandering away from the original question but she was revealing other tidbits that were contributing to her psychiatric problems. Just as a navigator had to know landmarks, coordinates, and orientation, he had to steer Maureen away from the dangerous shoals or deadly reefs and into a safe harbor.

"The boarding school was a pivotal turning point in your life. Being in Europe, for that matter, away from your home, all the familiar places and people that you were comfortable with, all gone. You must have experienced…" he trailed off, deliberately leaving Maureen to finish his statement.

"Disorientation, fear, and shock. I was homesick and angry at why Daddy wasn't there with me." Maureen, reliving that time again, temporarily forgot about her vow never to call Mr. Parker Daddy again. "I wanted to go home and I cried and pleaded to anyone who would listen to take me home."

Separation anxiety, culture shock, and with her untended emotional wounds of her mother's suicide were all a witch's brew of toxic mental problems. Mr. Parker couldn't have picked a better time than this moment to begin his re-conditioning of her, to begin ridding all of Catherine's influence from her daughter and to instill the dark spirit of the Parkers and the Centre in her.

"But nobody listened and you had to stay."

The nervousness she felt at the start of the session gradually lessened only to be replaced by the emotions that Tushar's questioning brought forth from the hidden corners of her soul.

The fear of the boarding school with the children speaking in languages that she didn't understand and didn't want to learn, a stranger in a strange land, pining for home and a father whom, she knew now, wasn't her father and still mourning a dead mother.

"What was the school like, Maureen?" Tushar asked in a gentle inquiry. "You must have made some friends over there."

She sniffed derisively. "I wouldn't exactly call them friends. Today, definitely not. But back than…" Maureen would never have hung out with them if she knew then what she knows now.

"But?" Tushar shifted upwards from his semi-reclined position sensing something important was about to be opened up.

Maureen started to speak, than stopped as if changing her mind, than opened up again. "But back then they welcomed me, took me under their wings, and showed me the ropes of the school there." A contemptuous chuff of breath. "I was part of the "in-crowd", you know. I was one of the beautiful people."

"Is that what those girls were, Maureen? Beautiful people?" Tushar muffled a groan as he wondered if she was going to spin her version of the cliché teenage soap opera.

"Yeah," she said, breaking into his train of thought. "They were the ones who introduced me to smoking, drinking, sex, and drugs." A hard unforgiving expression appeared on her tense. "The good life."

Tushar murmured, "You really did raise hell." For some unfathomable reason, he never expected Maureen to be a drug user. The other things, yes.

"Of course, I did," she snippily shot back, peeved that he seemed to not believe her. "C'mon, doctor. We're talking Eurotrash here now. Girls that were too rich, too spoiled, too bored, and always believing they were below the law, as Jarod would pontificate about."

Countering her sharp tongued reply with one of his own, Tushar said, "You went from the virginal Catholic schoolgirl, a momma's girl," he snidely put in just to aggravate her and hoping to draw out more pent up emotions, "to a world weary hedonistic pop tart who was doing all she can to be Daddy's girl. Correct, Maureen?"

Maureen felt the tightness around her eyes as she coped with reliving her first step to becoming the Centre's imperious and alluring Miss Parker.

Grudgingly, she told him, "Yes, you bastard."

Tushar never gloated, at least not in his patients presence, over his little victorious "gotcha". His ego, vigorously healthy, needed sustenance once in a while, like today. Otherwise, he would never have become the top-notch psychiatrist that he is.

Accepting that epithet as a badge of honor, though his parents would vigorously disagree, Tushar went on the hunt again, looking to bag more of Maureen's demons and secrets and assorted other hazardous mental materials.

The boarding school was a major milestone in Maureen's formative years. Buzzing in his mind was a burning curiosity of that place. Already he learned about the other girls decadent, materialistic, and hedonistic lifestyles. However, that was just one part of it. He knew that there were more. Moreover, he was determined to get his patient to spit them out.

"Did you learn anything at that school? Besides the cultural part," he added with irony.

"Well," she said, drawing the word out. "It was where I learned to distinct between the various brands of twelve year old scotch, to appreciate coke over pot, and how short of a miniskirt I can get away with wearing." Maureen smiled. A smile that had no humor in it. "I did drugs and the booze not because I liked that stuff. I did them, including the sex, because I wanted to fit in, to want the other girls to accept me."

"So how long…" he began.

"Over six months," answering before he could finish asking the question. "Than Mr. Parker put a stop to it. He flew over a team of his most intimidating team of sweepers" Maureen clarified upon seeing the questioning arch of his eyebrows, "along with the local office's sweepers to send a message to the girls and their dealers." She never knew about this expedition until Jarod brought up the file on his laptop and let her read it. "They killed the dealers and scared the bejesus out of the girls by stalking them everywhere and warning them to stay away from me." Another mirthless smile and a single bark of harsh laughter. "Needless to say, my popularity plummeted down to zero."

"So you were alone again." Isolation. Segregation. Shunning. Age old techniques designed to dominate a person, to control them. The Centre got the methods down cold.

"Yep," bobbed Maureen's head. "Though Mr. Parker's daily phone calls did prop me up." She drew a moue across her lips. "You should've been there when he gave me the war on drugs spiel."

Tushar saw an opportunity in her words and he took it. "It looks to me that Mr. Parker cared enough about you to have a heart to heart about using drugs."

The former Miss Parker froze, absolutely froze as she churned his words through her mind. Then, the bubble of laughter Maureen felt growing inside her burst out at Tushar's naïveté. Holding her stomach with her arms, she leaned over red faced as the guffawing reverberated around the living room.

"That takes the cake, doctor." She struggled to cease the laughter, but Maureen would replay the doctor's misguided observation and burst forth with more heartfelt laughter. It was either that or break down yet again in front of him.

Dr. Tushar listened to her laugh. From the very first session with her, he'd gotten used to these occasional outbursts from her. In every case, they were triggered by innocent commentaries he said to her. In any case, these outbreaks were restorative and therapeutic. Another tool to help heal her psychic wounds.

Propped up on the sofa, he listened fascinatedly to her laughter. A rich and vibrant voice. An opera fanatic, the doctor automatically classified her as a lyric soprano. He wondered how she would sound singing at the Met.

"Care to tell me what's so amusing?" His eyebrows knotted in mock puzzlement. Of course he knew that it had to do with Mr. Parker.

Maureen inhaled deeply and consciously closed her mouth to stop the laughing. Sobering, she finally told him, "Mr. Parker never cared about me. I was an investment and you and I both know that Mr. Parker always protects his investment." Shaking her head, with her hair moving wildly about, she finished with a bitter observation. "That was the damn reason why he gave me that "Just Say No" crap."

Tushar shifted his body to sit up cross-legged on the sofa. Mr. Parker was for another session. Right now, he was going to find out more about whom and what Maureen Parker or Maureen Greene was made of.

"Did he talk about drug rehab with you?"

The former Miss Parker pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin on them she answered in a tone devoid of emotion. "No. He didn't need to. That sack of shit threatened to throw me out into the streets if I didn't stop."

It was an empty threat which Tushar recognized and voiced it out loud. "He would never do that to you. As you pointed out yourself, the Centre got too much invested in you. You were one of the Red Files."

Maureen squirmed uncomfortably as the cold truth was laid out to her. "I was a kid then. What did I know of Red Files, scrolls, and all the other shit that ruined my life?" It was a weak defense. Hardly one at all as both of them recognized. "I stopped doing drugs just like he ordered me to. Quitting cold turkey was no fun." She placed her head in the cup of her right hand as she added, "I really believed he would disown me and I would be left alone."

Listening carefully, Tushar could hear the faint remnants of that little lost girl terrified of losing her father so soon after losing her mother. "So you obeyed him. Did you," waving his hands questionably, "want to come home after what the sweepers did to your friends?" He waited, curious to find out how she coped with the inevitable ostracism.

_How can Jarod sit through this bastard's rummaging inside his closet?_ Maureen closed her eyes remembering the numerous cold shoulders, the whispering behind her back, the petty cruelties that teenagers are infamously known for inflicting on their peers. The old hurt of being the outsider, of not belonging to any clique. Not even the nerds and geeks wanted to have anything to do with her. Not after the actions of the sweepers swept like wildfire through the school.

"Oh, yes!" she confided in a harsh almost whisper. "I wanted to come home so bad but the little fuckwad wouldn't let me. He kept telling me that Parkers doesn't show any weaknesses to anyone. We were in charge and in control." Opening her eyes, she looked at the ever observant doctor, "This was when he started regularly calling me Angel."

He caught her with his penetrating look. "Why did you think he gave you that nickname?"

Maureen didn't answer. Not yet. Rather, she squeezed her legs and tried to pull them closer to her. In the midst of a memorable summer heat wave, her body felt icy. Reluctantly, biting her lips several times, she let out a brief breath. "I…he…he gave me the impression that I would disappoint him if I didn't do as he wanted." Goosebumps appeared on her body. "I felt loved," she placed her head on her knees, not wanting to look at the presumptive pitying stare on the Indian's face, "special. He was going to be there for me just as I would for him."

Her great expectation turned out to be endless despair. It would take years and the horrid secrets to come out before Maureen couldn't bear to hear the word "Angel" without the urge to rage and retch simultaneously.

All Tushar could see right now was the top of her head, brown hair haphazardly flowing over her knees and down her calves. Her hands squeezed tightly together. Patience was a virtue and a job requirement for his chosen field. So he waited in a respectful silence. Waiting until she was prepared to continue her examination of her Parker persona with his help.

How long did she stayed where she was, she couldn't answer. Maureen couldn't even be sure if she slightly dozed off or not. But when she raised her head up, she saw Tushar still in his lotus position on the sofa. Watching and waiting for her next move.

The quiet living room filled up with her words. "I listened to him. His advice I took to heart, doctor." Regret etched her voice. "I became the girl that he demanded of me."

"Was this when you first develop the Ice Queen persona?" Tushar wrote in his notebook the consecutive feelings that Maureen must have felt in such a short period of time: losing her mother, the rejection by her fellow classmates, the mirage of a father's love only if she surrender her will to his.

"Yep, sure is." Maureen's mercurial mood swings made another appearance. "Since I lost all my friends and my reputation in tatters, I had to show those stuck up bitches that their cold shoulders and silent treatment didn't affect me at all." Maureen let go of her legs, which were becoming numb, and stood up stretching her body.

Tushar wanted to know while she getting her blood going, "What was it like to be Miss Parker, the so call Ice Queen of the Centre?"

Maureen's eidetic memory kicked into gear when she spotted the anomaly that was nagging her. "Jarod told you my nickname?" She hid her anger from Tushar but she was pissed at Jar for telling perfect strangers about her hated nickname that Centre employees used behind her back. Ice Queen. Now that was a nickname. The most fitting of all the nicknames she'd got tagged with.

The psychiatrist copied her by standing up also. Putting down his pen and notebook, he continued his questioning. "Jarod did. But he never told me why you've got that nickname." Shifting position, he asked her, "Are you up to telling me this, Maureen?"

"Stay here, doctor." Not waiting for whatever his reply was going to be, she turned her back on him and walked into the kitchen. She was there for a few minutes gathering her thoughts and dealing with her memories before coming back into the living room where she saw Tushar was standing right where she left him.

Carrying a cup of coffee in her hand, she took a cautious sip of the hot liquid. A slow, drawn out breath. Giving him a questioning look, "Do you want a cup?" She saw him shake his head. She continued, "You heard me before going on about not letting anyone getting too close to me? About not getting hurt again?"

"I have," he answered.

Maureen continued. "That was the ice part. The other part was that I had to be in charge, in control of the situation in order to continue breathing. I wasn't going to let anyone tell me order me around and put me in a situation where my life is endangered." Holding up her hand upon seeing Tushar was about to rebut her, "I know all too well that lying old fart commanded me with a velvet glove, not an obvious iron fist."

Tushar stroked his chin thoughtfully. Getting her to talk about the "Ice Queen" was several breakthroughs all at once. The persona that she wrapped herself in along with the Centre's conditioning made it very difficult to penetrate. Witness Jarod's years long efforts to enter into her life. And he was someone she loved. Now, slowing gaining her trust, he was determined to expand this breach.

Sitting down on the sofa and ignoring the notebook, he asked her again, "What was it like to be a Queen of the Ice?" It was a small attempt at levity by the doctor in the hopes of not cornering her where she was forced to clam up.

An unwilling smile briefly appeared on Maureen's face. Tushar's crack was a nice segue to what he really wanted to know and she didn't want to dredge up. She scanned the room looking for any kind of excuse not to talk about her past but nothing served to distract her. Pouring out an irritated but noiseless breath, she began talking. "It was a lonely, miserable, and angry life." She didn't want to relive that horrid period. What should have been the best years of her life were the worst. "That's what the reign of an Ice Queen is or," taking into account the changes in her life in the last several years, "was."

Tushar asked her kindly, "Did you wanted to be an Ice Queen?"

"Hell, no," Maureen finally giving voice she kept under wraps since Momma's death. "I hated it. I only became that person because that was what Daddy, I mean Mr. Parker," she loathed that she kept thinking of him as her father, "wanted and what I needed to protect myself."

"Protect you from what or who?" Tushar didn't miss that choice of word that Maureen used.

Maureen advanced towards the small window that looked out into that summer day. She caught herself looking out at beautiful green gardens adorned with soaring trees, flowering bushes, and trimmed hedges. She seemed to be doing this whenever the most sensitive questions or issues were brought up by either Jarod or, now, by the doctor.

She could say that it had to do with all those countless days spent in the underground Hades with no natural sunlight, the sounds of songbirds, and the smells of growing things. _Oh, God, Jar!_ What she was feeling was magnified a thousand times for Jarod.

A troglobite, except for those extremely rare occasions, which she can count on just one of her hands, where the Pretender was taken out of his grim cell when his unique skills were need. And, that one exception when she took him up to that roof on a wintry day to let him experience falling snow for the first time in his life.

Watching the outside world again, comforted by it, she spoke a little bit louder in order to answer the waiting psychiatrist. "I was protecting myself from loving again, to not hurt like the way I did when I lost Momma. To never, _never_, ever suffer like that again." Her tone softened from its sudden harshness, to be replaced by a saddened tone. "I lost Momma, I lost Faith, I lost Timmy, and I lost Jarod. Then to be dumped at a boarding school unable to make friends because of the damn Centre." Whirling around to face the sitting psychiatrist, challenging blue-gray eyes pinning him, she asked him, "What would you do in my place?"

"I couldn't say, Maureen. I didn't live a life like yours. To be honest, I'm blessed that I never did. I don't think anyone would trade places with you after hearing what you had to live through."

"No, I don't think they would," she muttered. Maureen gave a longing look back over at the window with its suburban scenery before heading over to sit down again in Jarod's recliner.

Dr. Tushar made a judgment call. Something he'd done for every one of his patients. Here with Maureen Parker, or Greene as she insisted, he decided not to bore too deeply today into the Miss Parker role. For now, he wanted to help her ease into whatever a post-Centre scarred woman chose for her identity.

Beginning this arduous task, for it was arduous after the life she lived, Tushar asked the waiting woman, "After the Centre fell, you no longer had to be the Miss Parker of ill-repute. Did you got rid of her right after the fall or waited? And, how did it felt not to be an Ice Queen anymore?"

Maureen's face told it all before she verbalized her answer. "I waited, doctor. Miss Parker was my security blanket. I didn't know anything else. It was only in prison that I finally decided to let go of her."

"And?" he prompted.

"It was liberating not to be the Ice Queen anymore." That was an understatement but she wasn't going to discuss it unless Tushar brought it up.

Tushar wrote in his notebook her words before speaking again. He licked his lips because he had to break gently to her what his field had been discovering in the last several decades of hard research.

"Maureen," he started off, "The Parkers unfortunately have left their mark on you. You've been imprinted with what they wanted. All of us are conservative." He smiled at the word choice and to put her at ease. "Not the political philosophy but our base personality. Studies have shown that after the age of twenty-five, our personality is pretty much fixed in place. To actually shake up your personality after that age requires something drastic like a life-threatening disease, surviving a disaster, or, in your case, finding out that your life was a lie."

Parker spent the next few minutes digesting what Tushar was explaining to her. Her eyebrows rose a fraction. "What you're saying, if I get it right, is that I'm still Miss Parker. Right?"

"No," corrected Tushar. "You're no longer Miss Parker but her spirit is still within you. Decades worth of living that life is not going to be easily erased in just a few short years."

Hearing that, Jarod's best friend finally did something that Miss Parker would never do. "Will you help me?"

Tushar inwardly sighed. A big relieved sigh. "Yes, of course I will."

Maureen nodded in thanks. She adjusted herself on the recliner. "What else does your inquiring mind wants to know about me?"

Tushar did have a few more questions that he wanted to raise with her. Taking her invitation, he brought them up. "How was your life when the Centre died?"

Giving him a wretched face, Maureen told him, "I was at a dead end by the time Jarod destroyed the Centre."

Tushar's eyebrows rose fractionally. Hearing her confess that her life at one point was at a dead end piqued his medical interest as well as his concern. "How did you conclude that your life was at a dead end back then?"

Maureen crossed her arms as Tushar's question brought back all the unpleasant memories from the day Jarod escaped to the day the government brought its fist down on the Centre.

"It was like Groundhog Day," she remarked in an undertone, referencing the movie that she saw in prison. "Each day was always the same. Jarod one step ahead of me, my team and I poring over the clues he left behind, and the three stooges threatening me if I don't bring back Jar."

"Was there anything that you recall that might have changed your assessment?" Tushar questioned, hoping for some breadcrumbs that he can use to treat her.

"Carthis." The woe in her voice was plain. The way Maureen said it bespoke something far-reaching had happened.

Tushar never heard of this word before. "Carthis? Who or what is Carthis?"

Adjusting her posture as she sat in her chair, which caused her skirt to hike up a little to reveal more of her long, shapely legs, Maureen licked her lips. Her nerves were always acting up whenever Carthis was mentioned.

"Carthis was hell and the promised land all rolled into one." It was an apt characterization of the strange isle that had an unnatural influence on her, Jar, Timmy, and the rest of the Centre's dramatis personae.

"It was an island off the Scottish coast," she explained to an ever-curious psychiatrist. "It was the place where the Parker Legacy began its cursed existence. The place where the Vespasian Scrolls which Jarod and I were the central characters laid hidden for centuries. Those fucking scrolls written by semi-literate medieval killer Elmer Gentrys. The damned place where the first innocents were murdered in the name of the Parker Legacy."

"It sounds like you were there." The nod she gave him indicated he was correct. "Why were you there?"

Maureen tugged slightly at one of her earlobe. Carthis was something that pained her since it was the beginning of the end. For her, for Jarod, for everyone whose lives she touched.

"What else?" she said with asperity. "Tracking Jarod down, finding clues to my mysterious past, yadda, yadda, yadda."

A searching glint as he felt something else she hadn't manifested yet. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" He waited expectantly for her response.

Maureen fought with herself over whether to tell her shrink the rest of the tale. Jarod told her she could trust the psychiatrist, even though she knew he hated to admit it. Grumpily, the rest came out of her.

"I found Jarod there. I was tracking him when we both discovered something that shocked us."

"What was it?" asked the psychiatrist, noting Maureen's body was steadily tensing up as she continued describing the events on Carthis.

"We found out that our mothers were working together." Tushar paused in his writing, surprise working through his mind. "With the bloodthirsty monks roaming the island and the Centre closing in, we teamed up to get to the bottom of the mysteries that bound us together and for mutual protection. We started to get close to where the scrolls were hidden away. But before we found them, Jar and I..." She swallowed at the memory of what almost happened in Ocee's guest room.

Tushar saw that she paused in her telling. Again. Coaxing her was becoming a de rigueur requirement. "Maureen?"

"We had a _moment_ while we were staying at someone's place there on Carthis." Irritation flared in her fiery eyes at his persistent prying. "Jarod's preferred term is _turning point._" Her face collapsed into sadness as she wrestled over what she did and didn't do. What she wanted to do but was prevented from doing.

Tushar leaned forward, trying very hard to contain his eagerness. This was another piece of the puzzle that linked Jarod and Maureen together. His left hand turned into a fist as he momentarily gave in to the frustration that he couldn't use this nugget of information to treat Jarod. His doctor/patient confidentiality rules were ironclad. Still…

"Was it a turning point for the two of you?"

"No," she replied as her body reacted by shuddering. "We came so close but Ocee, the owner of the house, interrupted us."

"What was it that she interrupted?" inquired Tushar impatiently, pen poised to take down whatever she informed him.

She looked squarely at him. "We were about to kiss when Ocee walked in on us."

Tushar's face stayed dispassionate even though he was very delighted for being proven right, professionally of course, as well as personally hoping that Jarod can get a second chance at love. Looking over at the drooping figure of Maureen, he wished the same for her.

"You did kiss after she left, correct?"

A twisted smile appeared on her lips. "The magic was gone." Brushing her long brown hair away from her face, she revealed more of that moment. "I wished we went through with it but it didn't happen. If we did, I might have told him of my decision to stay in the Centre in order to protect him and the other people I cared about."

Tushar's mental picture of the Pretender's and Maureen's life was constantly being fleshed out as more details became known. The hard part was that it was one-sided. All the information so far that he'd learned came from Maureen. Jarod remained stubbornly tight-lipped.

In the midst of his copious note taking, Maureen spoke up. "I pushed away the people that I love. Why is that?"

A loaded question, Tushar thought as he worked out an answer for her. The complicated answer would only muddy his accomplishments right now. The simplest answer was what he already learned from her. "To protect the people you love, like you just pointed a moment ago and protecting yourself from emotional harm."

"Humph," she grunted. It wasn't exactly the deep emotionally revealing reply she was looking for but it did fit the bill.

"What's your next question?" Tushar asked, taking in her body language.

A prolong hesitation which Tushar surprisingly didn't interrupt hung in the air between them. Then Maureen shattered the silence with a nagging question ever since she decided to reenter Jarod's life permanently.

"Will I be a good mother?"

"I think you will be." Tushar was caught off guard by this unexpected question. It was something that he might planned ahead for. Months or even a couple of years off since he wasn't sure how fast or slow Jarod and Maureen would pursue their relationship.

"You don't know for sure?" Maureen sought an airtight reassurance from her shrink and his answer didn't satisfy her. "You're the damn doctor, you have to know for sure."

It was the psychiatrist's turn to act defensively. "Remember earlier when I told you that the shadow of Miss Parker will always be with you?" He saw her nodding yes. "You will always call Jarod names like Pez head, wonder boy, lab rat because you've used it for so long and on a consistent basis. The same possibility exists for any children you might have in the future. You, Maureen," pointing his right forefinger at her, "will have to be constantly on guard to prevent such name calling of your children."

Outraged covered Maureen's face. "I would never call my children's names. What kind of mother do you think I would turn out to be?"

Her question put him on more solid ground. Tushar proceeded to explain his reasoning. "You've been emotionally abused for decades. Other studies have shown in detail that abused children grow up to inflict abuse on their own children. So multigenerational abuse is a strong probability for you. If you think you have a future with Jarod, you will need his help to prevent you from being abusive towards your children. You have my help as well if you want it."

Maureen didn't ask anything further. Her face troubled by the facts Tushar brought up, she stood up slowly and declared that the session was over.

* * *

That night in his office, Dr. Balaji Tushar sat at his desk going over his house call. Maureen was a strong woman but a troubled woman. Sighing, he was looking forward to a nice dinner with his partner and some cheering up. Seeing her name in bold letters on her manila folder, Tushar took a post-it note and wrote three words on it and stuck it to the inside left of the folder. Then he closed the folder. 

Standing up, the psychiatrist turned off the lights and closed the door. If someone were to peek at what he wrote, the words were:_long-term patient._

* * *

**A/N:** I have to correct something that I wrote in my A/N in chapter 21. It should be my original chapter 19. Writing this much caused me to lose track of the chapter counts. Apologies. 

Posted on 21 February 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 25

**Mr. Parker**

"Daddy."

"Daddy," repeated Maureen with a long drawn out breath. The title that used to be associated with Gregory Parker no longer set her off. She wouldn't give the dead fucker the pleasure in the knowledge that he can still pull her strings or push her buttons.

Dr. Tushar's facial muscles tightened but quickly relaxed when she didn't explode like the proverbial volcano when the subject of Mr. Parker cropped up. Like with this session.

He flicked his head down slightly to the opened folder. There, the first thing to catch his eyes, was a small picture of a kindly old man with a full white mustache, gentle looking eyes, topped off with a white fringe of hair. Someone could mistake him for a grandfather spending time spinning tall tales for his grandchildren, or a retiree enjoying his golden years, or, possibly, just possibly, a cold-blooded mass murderer who plotted without mercy the deaths of thousands to advance his bizarre agenda and enriching himself.

Nope, Tushar silently reminded himself, one couldn't tell that just by looking at him. Appearances can truly be deceiving.

Maureen saw her shrink look up from whatever he was staring at on his lap. She held up her left arm to look at her wristwatch. She just might be able to finish this session early.

Tushar took note of her looking at the time. Cocking an inquiring eyebrow, "Need to go somewhere real soon?"

Maureen had the grace to blush a little at being caught by him. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to make something up to cover up her faux pas. "I'm planning a surprise party for Jarod and Timmy tonight."

"Oh? What's the occasion?" Tushar was deeply interested because Maureen was showing signs of being quite animated that he never saw in her from previous sessions.

She gave her doctor a happy grin. A grin with no shadows. "Today's the anniversary of the day when we all first met together."

Tushar shared in her joy with an encouraging smile. "I'm happy to hear that. Are you taking them out?"

Still smiling, Maureen answered, "No. It's going to be at Jarod's house. Small and quiet. Just the three of us." She barked out a laugh. "The sugar will be flowing with those two."

Tushar's wondering look got Maureen to elaborate further. "Those two have a very large sweet tooth. Cakes and ice cream for my boys." Her affection for the two men was quite evident in the glow about her.

"Ah, I see," chuckled Tushar. He gave her the brief moment of respite. Let her enjoy this rare moment of happiness and levity when she wasn't bowed down by her history.

Maureen relished the idea of tonight's party. There was very little for them to celebrate in their hard luck lives but when an opportunity popped up, she was going to seize it by the throat.

It wasn't easy to pull off a surprise party for those two sharp-eyed savants but she managed to do it with panache. She knew what today was even though it seemed curious that the men didn't, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When the three of them were sitting down for breakfast, the dizzying topics that flew across the table always surprised her as well as delighted her. Here she was able to converse on anything and everything without having to, as one talk show host put it, "have half her brain tied behind her back". It was one of these topics that she found a way to get the men out of the house for the rest of the day while she got the party organized.

Timmy innocently mentioned that there was going to be a march on Capitol Hill today in support of more research money for traumatic brain injury, a subject that all three had more than a passing interest. Maureen quickly seized on it as a way to do good while providing the solution to get them out of the house for most of the day. Maureen showed her nimbleness by convincing Jarod to take Timmy to the protest march while she went to her latest psychotherapy session.

Maureen's pleasure slowly evaporated as she looked across at the sober looking doctor. She heaved out a small groan. "I guess we should get back on track, eh, doctor?"

The Indian agreed, "Unfortunate but true. Ready?"

A grimace. "Fire away," quipped Maureen nervously.

"You spent decades of your life seeking Mr. Parker's love and affections." The statement was deliberately designed to set her on edge, to create a jumpiness that hopefully will help in binding up one of her most bloody emotional wounds. At least that was Tushar's plan. Now, he'll find out if it's a good one or he was going to have to go back to square one.

"All for nothing," grated Maureen as she felt light headed from the blood rushing to her head. She could hear her teeth grind from the pressure she was putting on them. She worried, in a distracted manner, whether she might crack a tooth from the immense pressure.

Tushar was inwardly satisfied, as his treatment plan seemed to be initially working. "Nothing? It seemed to me that in your quest for his acceptance, you graduated earlier than the norm from your boarding school and college." Flipping through his notes even though he already memorized her pertinent information, "You have a genius level IQ which qualifies you for Mensa; you were the youngest executive to work in the Centre's Corporate section, an actual prodigy. All of these accomplishments, Maureen," lightly hitting his notebook with the back of his right hand, "they were designed to get your fa-, excuse me, Mr. Parker's attention. Yes or no?"

A reluctant frown was followed rapidly with a dark visage. Bitterly she admitted to the earnest doctor, "Yes. Everything that I did, the Type A personality, the overachieving, the corporate ladder climber, all of it was to get him to recognize me, to acknowledge that I," a catch in her voice, "that I wasn't weak like Momma."

Sometime his patients would unknowingly drop nuggets of information without understanding how helpful they were for their therapy. Just like the nugget Maureen revealed right now.

"Is that what he told you after your mother's supposed suicide?"

Another nod. "I was taken to his office still in shock and the first thing to pop out of his mouth was that it was Momma's fault." She remembered being escorted into Mr. Parker's office by Sydney and then silently leaving her to be alone with her aloof and intimidating "father". "Mr. Parker went on in a dead voice telling me that she was weak, she brought shame to the family." Maureen experienced the same pain and hurt that she felt when she first heard those hateful judgments coming out of that turd's mouth. She was grateful to finally unburden herself to someone over this traumatic period in her life. "What he told me made me cry."

Dr. Tushar dispassionately looked on as Maureen lifted the curtain on another proof of Centre maltreatment of her. Inwardly, he was gripped by the mix of anger and sadness at the decades of damage she underwent at the bloody hands of Mr. Parker and the Centre.

Now, he saw Maureen struggled to hold off the tears that appeared in her eyes.

"He said that I must not be weak like Momma, that the Parkers will not tolerate another failure like Momma." Mr. Parker always had a gift for words to describe people that he regarded as enemies Maureen acidly reminisced.

She let the tears trickle down untouched as she told Tushar something Mr. Parker had planted in her right after the supposed suicide. "He…he told me…" sniffling, "that I was responsible for driving Momma to kill herself."

Her doctor gaped at her trying to comprehend how anyone could deliberately, with malice aforethought, inflict this kind of emotional torture on a child. Coughing loudly to catch her attention, he sternly questioned her. "Why would Mr. Parker said those things to you? What was he thinking? Right after your mother's suicide? Why didn't he wait until you went through the grieving process?" The questions came out in staccato. "Lastly, with the numerous psychologists and psychiatrists on the Centre's staff, why wasn't one of them, Sydney Greene comes to mind, assigned to help you?"

Incomprehension clouded her arresting eyes. Maureen wiped her eyes before answering him. "To make me strong. I don't know what else to think of."

Tushar was sympathetic to her mystification. He knew the answers but dreaded to tell her. The questions were crafted to find out if there were alternate answers to what he discovered. Unfortunately, her answer didn't provide a good alternative.

As he gradually developed a better understanding of Maureen from their sessions, he found out that she was a dynamic, albeit, damaged woman with a quick wit and mordant humor which she rarely display but sparkled when she did. Now, in order to help her, he had to damage her. Dr. Tushar hated it but as a doctor, he had to do it, for her sake.

There was no way to break it gently to her. "Maureen, Mr. Parker was programming you."

"No!" she denied, a cold knot forming in her stomach. "He…I…he wouldn't." If one were to believe that the eyes were the windows to the soul, Tushar told himself, than Maureen already accepted what he was saying. The rest of her needed some more time to catch up. Her entire body shrank in on itself. "He would. The fucker would," she murmured painfully. The rest of her finally caught up.

"Anything else?" carefully prompted Tushar. He saw Maureen wasn't finished but she clammed up. Something was bothering her. "What are you holding back?"

An internal debate broke out inside her. Should she tell him or not? Maureen knew Jarod's pointedly voiced opinion. Even now she still had varied reactions. The reactions, which whipsawed her ever since Jarod escaped into freedom, ended the debate.

"Did you know he called me his Angel? He always used that nickname," Maureen softly eked out. "Mr. Parker never called me by my name." An indignant snort. "I guess he hated to be reminded every day that I wasn't his daughter."

Even now, knowing how Jarod passionately hated that endearment, which she shared to a large degree, she still felt the comforting grip of that word. Maybe with more therapy from her shrink, she can be free of it and, ultimately, of Mr. Parker himself.

"It was part of your programming, to manipulate you, to subsume your will to his. In effect, you were the extension of his will. Extra eyes, extra ears, extra hands for Mr. Parker, to punish his enemies, reward his friends, more likely useful idiots since I sincerely doubt he ever formed friendships in his life." Stopping for a moment to write something down on his ubiquitous notebook, he resumed. "Now you heard my deductions…" He stopped. Shooting her an apologetic look, "But, I digress, how do you feel about being called angel?"

She gave voice to the beginning when the prick first used it on her. "I felt loved and felt wonderful that he was using that term only for me. _Me_, his daughter." She patted her chest with her right hand. "I latched on to that hoping that it meant we were getting closer."

Tushar's voice conveyed his dubiousness, "That doesn't fit Mr. Parker's profile."

"No," agreed Maureen in an empty voice. "Jarod's help, along with what just told me, opened my eyes to why he really kept calling me his angel."

"Why did he do it?" leaning slightly forward, his curiosity

Tightness around her eyes, she answered him. "To use me. He manipulated me knowing how much I craved his affections and attention. I would do anything to please that loser."

Tushar told her after making sure she wasn't go to add anything more, "You were a child, as I keep reminding you, when this crap was done to you," he saw the look on Maureen's face at his use of profane language, "you had no knowledge that he was abusing you."

Maureen kept silent and didn't bothered to reply. She already heard the by now usual refrain that she was just a young girl when the Parkers plans for her went into motion.

"I'm going to make some statements that will make you uncomfortable but which I believe will help you with your mental well-being." Maureen's tears by now was dried up and now she was raptly listening and watching her doctor. "First, admit it, you loved him while you were growing up. I know, I know," seeing Maureen's angry face, "you wish you could take it back but it's not that simple. Where it comes to Mr. Parker, your emotions are twisted. That's not the case with Jarod. You've always loved him whether you admit it or not. With Mr. Parker, you loved him but then found out much later that he lied, manipulated, and used you. You hate him now. That's normal."

His cool appraisal triggered her explosive temper again. In every other episode, she couldn't sit still. The tingling in her body, the lightheadedness, all demanded she stand up and stalk the around like a caged animal. A dangerous caged animal waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

Maureen snapped angrily at Tushar. "I gave him my love, my devotion, my loyalty to that lying bastard. I dedicated my life to pleasing that son of a bitch and what was my reward?" she asked rhetorically. "A life wasted." Standing behind his chair, she barked out, "So yes, I hate him for what he did to Momma, Faith, Jarod, me and all the others."

Her tirade continued with Tushar attentively listening to her, his digital voice recorder recording everything. "I took a bullet for him," remembering that day on the tarmac as she learned of the plot to kill Mr. Parker. "I wasn't going to lose my last living relative to the damn Centre," Maureen told Tushar with a bitter sardonic edge. "So I took one for the family." An angry pounding of her fist into her other hand. "For a monster who isn't even my father."

Tushar wrote some more in his notebook. What she was saying opened up more angles for him to approach. She was doing exactly what she's been doing so far in their sessions. He gained her trust, enough of it, to let her vent, scream, shout, unload, opened up all the emotional baggage, totally damaged of course, which she kept in the pressure cooker that she called her life.

Placing his notebook and pen down in his lap, Tushar clasped his hands together. "In an earlier session, you pointed out that Mr. Parker discouraged you from openly showing your affections. Wasn't it confining that you couldn't show to the world that you love and care about someone, anyone else?"

Maureen gestured with a heaving breath, outstretch arms, and a roll of her vivid blue-gray eyes. "Finally, someone understands." Seeing Tushar's surprised face, she began explaining. "After Momma was gone, Mr. Parker was all I had," hating to admit it after finding out what he did to her and Momma, "and I was terrified that he would die also."

Pacing back and forth, arms in motion, Maureen looked at the book lined shelves at the end of her path then spinning around to walk to the other end where she saw the many diplomas, certificates, and framed photos hanging behind Dr. Tushar's ornate desk.

"I drew pictures of just the two of us, made these papier-mâché objects, hugged him, told him repeatedly that I love him…" She stopped before his desk, the tips of her fingers resting on the surface. Maureen's head drooped and with her eyes closed as those memories, which she successfully suppressed for so long, reappeared.

Maureen's voice quivered as she told an expectant Tushar, "All I wanted was to hear him telling me that he wouldn't leave me like Momma did. I needed him to hug me as he told me that he was going to be there for me as I was frightened of being alone in the dark. Was I asking for too much?"

Tushar stirred angrily in his chair at what he heard. He saw the old hurt in those blue-gray eyes. It was yet another piece of evidence that Mr. Parker emotionally abused this woman.

"No," he comforted her. "That's a normal reaction from any one, both children and adult, to want someone to watch over them." He rubbed his tired eyes. Knowing the extent of Mr. Parker's evil, he answered his own question. "Let me guess, he never did."

Maureen sighed dejectedly. "No, never."

* * *

**A/N:** Please read and review. Thanks. 


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 26

**Thomas**

Maureen paused as Tommy's face briefly appeared before her. His kind and gentle eyes, the square jaw, and the grin that always wanted to turn into a happy smile made her remember the nightmare that she went through right after his murder. Locking eyes with the inquisitive doctor, she let out what Jarod already knew. "I decided that the Centre would not have Jarod. There was no way in hell that I would let them imprison him again, to deny him the freedom that he craved. That was how I fought them. My revenge for them taking Tommy away from me."

He didn't write anything down, knowing that the recorder would take of that. Tushar mentally reviewed what little data he had on Maureen's late lover.

Thomas Gates was a former up and rising Wall Street banker who got tired of being a master of the universe. Left an eight-figure salary behind to start a house restoration business. First contact with the Centre was made through Jarod where he got caught up in one of Jarod's pretends. After the pretend was over, Jarod surreptitiously pointed the carpenter to Maureen in an attempt at matchmaking. It looked like Jarod got it right, initially, when Miss Parker hit it off quickly with Gates. In fact, almost immediately after their initial encounter, she had Gates moved into her home and was talking about leaving the Centre. That was the fatal flaw in Jarod's plan. Sighing despondently at another blow to her emotional health, her "Daddy" ordered Gates' execution for threatening his plans for Maureen. The ex-Eagle Scout wound up with a nine millimeter size hole in his head.

"When Thomas died, was that the first thing that cropped up in your mind?" probed Tushar. "Revenge?"

Maureen scowled at the inquisitive doctor. "Of course," she spat out. "What else do you think it was?"

"How about grief over losing the man you love," he challenged. "Or, bewilderment. A common response to something so traumatic. Why did it happen to you and yours? How about those kinds of feelings?"

Her scowl turned into a bereft face. "I should never have gotten involved with Tommy. It was my own fault for leading him on," indirectly answering his questions.

Tushar wasn't going to be denied the answers he was looking for. Instead, he tried another tack. "Let's try something else then." The doctor regarded her appraisingly. "When I bring up the name of Thomas Gates what comes to your mind?"

"Love, regret, wrong, failure," were the portrayal of Tommy that rested in Maureen's mind. Unshed tears burned in her eyes.

The man's gaze sharpened at the words she chose. Now, like an archaeologist, he had to carefully brush off the coating of each word and hold them up to the light of day for examination.

Today, Maureen sat on the sofa clutching one of the throw pillows that came with it. Her chin rested on the edge of the pillow with her eyes deliberating avoiding contact with his. Tushar mentally groaned as his initial opinion of her solidified. She ranked either ranked first or second with Jarod as his most difficult patients under his care depending on who was in session with him. Their mutually catastrophic lives were in a class by themselves.

Beginning his healing, he picked the first word that she chose. "Did you or did you not love Thomas?"

Maureen started crying. Gripping the pillow tighter to her, shoulders shaking, she gasped the words out, "Yes…yes, I did. I loved Tommy."

The doctor rejected her declaration of love for Thomas Gates. There was something in the way she conveyed it to him that raised a question mark. He dove right in to that _something_ and find out what it was.

"Wholeheartedly? Absolutely? No doubts in your heart about loving Tommy?" mercilessly questioning her. Tushar was going to goad her into showing more of her walled off emotions.

Maureen finally made eye contact with her doctor, _prosecutor_,a remote part of her corrected. Lips trembling, she began to affirm her love for Tommy, but she gathered in his knowing look and knew she couldn't lie to him anymore than she could lie to herself.

"No," tearfully confirming Tushar's suspicions. "I…I couldn't, I tried," Maureen stammer semi-coherently. Droplets of tears landed on the pillow, soaking up the most obvious sign of her distress.

Tushar let her cry for a few mores moments during which time he analyzed whether she was capable of continuing with her session. Drawing upon his years of healing and stabilizing broken men and women, he watched her. The language of her body, the previous sessions he held with her, the way she cried, all were part of the unique formula not found in a medical textbook that he used to sum up Maureen Greene aka Maureen Parker at this juncture in her life. The answer he came up with satisfied his professional concern for her.

"So you regret loving Thomas?" was Tushar's next question. "What caused you to change your mind? Or, to be more precise, who?" The slim doctor already figured that it had to be Jarod. All the permutations he can think of, ferreted out of both of them, left no uncertainties in his mind as to their love for each other.

"I loved him but, but," gasped Maureen roughly, "it just wouldn't work. I couldn't love him the way he deserved to." Maureen's guilt tore at her. Tommy loved her unconditionally. While she…she believed she loved him unconditionally, too. Until she was placed in a place and time to reconsider their love affair.

"From the time you first met Thomas to the day he was murdered, did you love him? Absolutely love him?"

"Yes, absolutely," Maureen responded as her heart tore her apart equally with guilt and relief for telling someone out loud what was going on inside her.

Tushar planted his hands on top of the desk, feeling the blotter on his skin as he prepared to pound some sense into his patient and drain her of the unnecessary poison of unfounded guilt.

"Did Tommy loved you with all his might? Was he devoted to you, thought you were the rarest thing in the world from the day he met you to his last day here on Earth?" The questioning look in his eyes that he gave the guilt stricken woman demanded that she be truthful with him.

Maureen rubbed her reddened eyes and nose gathering her thoughts. Tommy loved her completely as did she with him until her time in prison ripped off the blinders she placed over her heart. She was still absorbed in her reverie when she was prompted again by Tushar. "Did he love you?"

"He did." Her answer was spoken in a sad broken voice. "He shouldn't have but he did."

Tushar ignored the last part and concentrated on the first half. "So, to be straight here, you and Tommy were madly in love right up to the morning when that woman, Bridgette, murdered him." Seeing her sitting silently and not correcting him, he continued. "Thomas died knowing you loved him. He died happy knowing that you cared about him and that he secured a special place in your heart for him."

Maureen straightened her back. Objecting, she said, "But I…" Her argument was forcefully interrupted.

"Wrong?" The third word that Maureen uttered out concerning her tragic affair with Tommy. "Did it felt wrong when you were kissing him, inviting Thomas to move in with you, or waking up in the morning with him lying next to you?"

"No," she told him. "There was nothing wrong with that." Maureen's mood shifted as her guilt assaulted her again. "But that's not the point. I realized that…"

Tushar gave her an order, "Shut up." He tried, really tried to be sympathetic. However, he wasn't one of those psychiatrists who let their patients prolong their self-recriminations to the point it aggravated their problems rather than relieve them.

Maureen mouth dropped in shock and she goggled at him. Then it swiftly went to anger. "How dare you tell me to shut up? Who the hell gives you the right to tell that, you asshole."

A hard flinty look came over the Indian's eyes. "An asshole who has had it up to here," placing one hand over the top of his head, "hearing you whine and snivel how wrong and awful it was to love Thomas Gates. Ad infinitum." The Thomas sessions were the most egregious examples of self-pitying he saw coming from Maureen and he'd gotten to the point where he was going to dose her with some harsh bitter medicine.

Her notorious temper, justly feared at the Centre and taken in stride only by Jarod and Timmy, erupted. "You bastard, you don't know what the fuck you're babbling about!" Pouncing out of the sofa she stomped over to his desk. "You know what I put him through! It was because of me that he got killed! He should never have loved me." Her shouts now trailed off into a sibilant whisper. "I should never have loved him because I…I…"

"…love Jarod," finished Tushar for her. Sympathy shown in his eyes as well as understanding.

Any hot retorts frittered away when she heard what he said. Maureen stared down at him as she paid close attention to the rest of what he had to say.

"The Centre took away your right to tell Thomas that you would have fallen out of love with him eventually. In a normal situation," here a sad and completely understanding smile, "you would have had the chance to tell Thomas that it wasn't working due to your love for Jarod and, hopefully, it would have ended on friendly terms. So, yes, Thomas died happy being in love with you and knowing that you reciprocated it. Please take comfort in that, Maureen."

Maureen felt deflated. The anger that she was holding onto vanished quickly. "I wish it was that easy, doctor," groaned Maureen miserably. "Did you know that I spent the time in prison going over my relationship with Tommy? What we had?" She backed away from the seated Tushar and turned her back on him. She closed her eyes. "You have a lousy talent for being right at the wrong time. You know that?"

"Yes, I've been told that by a lot of my patients," he commented dryly.

Ignoring his fatuous remark, she needed some breathing space to gather her wits about her. Maureen about-faced to lock gazes with him again. "What we had wasn't going anywhere because I love Jarod. Not Thomas." She asked him, "What now?"

Giving the brunette a once over, he questioned her, "Where does Thomas fit in your life now?"

Maureen graced Tushar with a sad nostalgic smile. "A special place in my heart. I did love him however you want to describe it."

"A special memory, something sentimental then." The statement hung in the air between them.

"Yes," she affirmed.

Sensing a way to end this session with something for Maureen to chew on, Tushar carefully phrased his question. "Was Thomas a kind, decent, and understanding man, Maureen?"

Memories of Tommy's gentleness and kindness scrawled through her mind. "Oh, yes," Maureen confirmed with absolute conviction. "Definitely a gentle man."

Dr. Tushar deliberately say nothing to Maureen Parker aka Maureen Greene. He let the stillness build up until he saw that it was disturbing her. Then he threw the bone out for her to chew on. "Thomas would have forgiven you. Why won't you forgive yourself?"

* * *

**A/N:** It would be so easy to write Thomas as a cardboard Centre villain at worst, at best a love 'em and leave 'em swinger. But it wouldn't have meshed with the loss that Parker felt when she saw his body lying on her front porch nor the relationship she developed with him. It also would have been a show of disrespect for Andrea Parker's acting skills in the episodes concerning Thomas' death. My favorite scene in this story arc was the interrogation room where she confronted the suspect, whom we know was a dupe, and just broke down. Now, that was acting. Good job, Andrea!

One annoying thing that the show's writers never got around to resolving was their switching between the names of Thomas and Tommy. So, I copied them by using both, though personally, I prefer Thomas since Tommy and Timmy are just too close for my comfort.

I wrote this chapter in an effort to bring some closure between her and Thomas while presenting him as the nice guy that he was. Unfortunately.

I am a JMPR shipper, after all!

Please read and review. Thanks.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 27

**Catherine**

"She lied to me," Maureen whimpered, the pain of her mother's betrayal still hot and raw as ever. "I saw her body lying there in the elevator. I was screaming, yelling at the sweeper to let me go to her. And still she just laid there." She struggled to maintain control of her body but it was a losing proposition.

Tushar noticed grimly the haggard look pasted on her face. He ignored the natural instinct to go over and comfort her. Instead, he steeled himself to stay where he was and let her pour out a lifetime of trauma, confusion, and anger over her mother's bizarre ending.

"How could she do that to me?!" shrieked out Maureen, arms clasped about her waist, rocking slowly back and forth. The anger scared her. This was Momma she was infuriated at. Tushar told her it was alright to let out whatever came to her mind. Right now, her heart and mind was consumed by anger at her mother. "Why didn't she contacted me?! Why didn't she come and get me?! Why did she abandon me to that bastard?! Why, Momma?! Why!!!"

It ate away at her and it ate away at her ever since Jar got the DSAs and shown her that Momma was alive weeks after the suicide and funeral. The days and nights when she cried and weep in her bedroom hoping against all hope that Momma would come back and explained to her that it was all a mistake, a nightmare. Curled up in a fetal position waiting desperately for a father to take her into his protective arms, softly speaking words of comfort and love and succor. He never appeared.

Tushar paused for a moment before suggesting something that he knew had a high probability of setting her off. "Maybe she did it out of love for you and protecting the other children?"

Maureen's anger flare white hot just as her doctor correctly guessed. "Bullshit! She fucked up with that crazy ass scheme of hers. All it did was getting her murdered by that," she couldn't say Raines' name right now, "that rapist! Ethan stolen from me and Jar's family, shuffled among strangers, and brainwashed by that son of a bitch!" Chest heaving from that outburst, she took in a lungful of air before continuing with her tirade.

"The children?" Her eyes drilling holes in his. "You mean, like Alex, Jarod, Timmy, and the rest? I'm sure glad that they grew up to be normal, healthy, and sane." Slapping a hand to her forehead dramatically, "Oh, wait! That didn't happen! Momma trusted Fenigor to help. That turned out to be another brilliant move by my mother." The sarcasm was glaring.

Dr. Tushar sat at one end of the leather sofa. He absorbed the words flooding out of Maureen's mouth. The method that Catherine Parker chose to escape the Centre was ill planned, poorly executed, and, the consequences, as he looked at the tear stained and red-faced woman, disastrous. The festering wound of Catherine's supposed suicide never healed. Now, he was going try something different hoping it would begin to heal this psychic wound.

"Maureen, stop." Tushar ordered her as he stood up. He headed over to a walk-in closet.

Her diatribe ended when she heard him and saw him rising from the sofa. Maureen's anger was still boiling. She wasn't finished but relented to Tushar's request. Curiously, she saw him going into the closet and coming out with a folding chair. She gave in to her curiosity. "What's with the chair?"

Folding the chair open and placing it by the open area directly in a corner of the room, he answered her, "A different therapy. I think this will be the best way for you to confront your mother."

A harsh chuckle. "In case you haven't notice, doctor, my mother is dead."

"True," he responded with an understanding look. "But for the sake of today, let's pretend that she's here and sitting in this chair." He patted the chair for emphasis. "Humor me. Let's start from the beginning."

Rolling her eyes, she nevertheless did as Dr. Tushar requested. Showing some trepidation, Maureen stood before the chair, an unadorned folding chair commonly found in convention centers and hotel rooms. Her neck and back itched knowing that Tushar was behind her, scrutinizing her intently. Blowing out a pent up breath, she began.

"Momma? I didn't understand why you did what you did. Why you faked your suicide, that is." It felt good to ask these questions that tortured her since that god-awful day. The day darkness came into her life and only just recently let go but not without a long drawn-out fight.

Maureen crept in a counterclockwise direction around the chair. She ignored Tushar who resumed his sitting position on the sofa. "Did you time your suicide just when I was there? To make it more believable?" Anger seeped into her voice as her fists clenched at her sides. "What were you feeling when you heard me scream, begging that I come to your side?" The blue-gray eyes were lit from within with her decades long suppressed anger and grief. Hot tears fell untouched down her face.

Maureen's slender body tilted down to the chair seemingly to make sure Catherine heard exactly what she had to say. Maureen's voice hissed bitterly, "You didn't move one fucking inch, Momma. Not. One. Fucking. Inch. You just laid there as my world died, just like I thought you died."

Straightening herself up, she paused in her circling of the chair, wiping away her tears. Right now, the awkwardness and strangeness of addressing a folding chair evaporated. For Maureen Parker aka Greene, it was actually Momma sitting there silently as the target for her daughter's verbal harangue.

"I never even had time to properly grieve for you, Momma. Daddy, excuse me Momma," sarcasm dripped poisonously from her mouth, "_Mr. Parker_, packed me off to that damn boarding school in Europe right after your funeral." Straightening her flowery sundress, she stared at the chair with a laser-like intensity. "_Oh, pardon me, Momma,_" spite now replaced the sarcasm, "you were so loved, so well thought of by your adoring masses, that Mr. Parker arranged two funerals for you." Both of her hands flew to her mouth in a cruel parody of being surprised. "One for the Centre, meaning our near and dear cast of villains and the other one for your side of the family. The Jamisons went to a mock burial put on by the damn Centre, Momma. They didn't know any better. Mr. Parker even got one of the girls held as a prisoner, one of the children that _you_," jabbing an accusing finger at the empty space in front of her, "failed to rescue, posing as me."

Pulling at her hair in violent frustration, she resumed her walk around the chair. "You abandoned me, Momma. Abandoned me to the tender mercies of that asshole that you called husband and me Daddy." Stopping abruptly, she gave the chair the hottest glare that she could conjured up. "You never planned on leaving me with him, did you? But that's what happened. Mr. Parker thought he was a badass motherfucker but you showed him wrong didn't you, Momma? You showed him that he only had a ticket stub while Jacob, I guess I should call him Daddy now, had a ticket on him." A leer. "Or should I say several tickets, eh?" The vicious language and cruel putdowns that she absorbed in prison were being put to good use.

Tushar hurriedly jotted down key points that he was hearing. He was grateful to his nagging father for taking shorthand while in high school. It was a godsend to his chosen profession. While his voice recorder was recording everything, he could circle in on areas that needed special attention and other places where he thought he could expound on. The Indian kept going as Maureen didn't show any signs of slowing down.

"Mr. Parker got his back though. He almost turned me into him. Almost, Momma. I have to thank Jarod and," she relented grudgingly, "you for not letting that happen."

The livid woman, a hard-bitten survivor, stopped again. Her right foot tapped a staccato on the carpeted floor. It was a sign that she was on the edge. "You lied to me, Momma. How could you do that to me?" she whispered brokenly. She wiped away some more of her tears.

_Where the fuck was her know it all Inner Sense? What's the use of it if it can't answer you when you needed it the most? Hey, Inner Sense! I need you! NOW!!!_

Motionless, she waited. Nothing. It didn't surprise her. Her life was always full of letdowns and disappointments. What was another one? Instead, she concentrated on sending an image to her Inner Sense, wherever the hell it was. The image was a middle finger salute. She can only hope that her Inner Sense would get her message loud and clear.

Taking care of her mute Inner Sense, Maureen resumed her tirade. "You lied to me about who my father was, lied to me about your death, lied to me about a lot of things. Did you lied about loving me, too?" An irrational fear she admitted but Momma lied so much it was hard to decipher where the truth laid.

"You betrayed me, too." She walked a few steps until she was right behind the chair. Maureen reached out with her hands to grip the back of the chair. Her knuckles were white with tension. "I trusted you absolutely, Momma. Of all the people in the world, I trusted you completely." She had to stop right there for fear she might explode from her seething anger. She tamped down her anger in order to get the rest out of her.

The doctor saw the violent quivering coming from Maureen. This was nothing knew. Using this chair therapy in the past, there came a point where some of his patients just lost control breaking down in front of him, others would pick up the chair and throw it across the room heedless of who or what was in the path of it, and still others bravely confronting their psychic traumas and rebuild their lives with his help. Tushar relaxed imperceptibly as he watched Maureen went over the hump and finally confronted her dueling reality of Catherine Parker.

Another surge of tears flowed their way down her tension-riddled face as Maureen brokenly hissed out, "You let me down, Momma. I never thought I would ever accuse you of that but you did. Maybe you thought you were doing what you thought best, but did you consider what a young girl thought? I didn't know what to think." Resting her forehead on the back of the chair and her hands still gripping the chair, she closed her tear stained eyes. Barely audible weeping could be heard by Tushar.

Roughly wiping her nose and eyes, she raised her head and shoulders. Blue-gray eyes gazed straight ahead as though the back of Catherine's head was right in her face. She also brought her hands together as she laid her arms on the back of the chair.

Maureen's voice, scratchy and raw from crying, rasped out, "Mr. Parker took care of that. He taught me that you were weak, soft, a disgrace to the family." A bleak bark of laughter. "I believed him. I took what he said to heart. Did you know that when I was at the boarding school, he would call me constantly to reinforce that idea? Did you also know that the Centre owned that boarding school? I found that out when I was in Corporate."

Catherine stayed mute. Maureen was desperate for a sign, a voice, even her damned Inner Sense. Still nothing. Her hair bounced from her head shaking in futility. "That son of a bitch was beginning to mold me. He got a lot of good material to work with, Momma. A girl broken by your death, a stranger in a strange land desperately trying to fit in, a lonely girl who missed her best friends, and a little girl scared of losing her daddy."

Finally, straightening her posture, she told her mother, under the influence of the last vestiges of her anger, "You did a damn good job on me, Momma." A heartbeat passed. "You bitch."

Maureen was paralyzed, unable to move after that last statement. She just called her mother a bitch to her horrified amazement.

Tushar took note of the fact that his patient was motionless. He was not surprised at hearing her calling Catherine a bitch. It was therapeutic for her so he chose to ignore it.

"Maureen, are you finished?"

The psychiatrist's words shook her out of dazed state. Maureen replied softly, "Yes, I'm done." Slowly spinning around until she saw him, she asked him, "What do I do now?"

Tenting his fingers in front of him, Tushar's cultivated detachment was in place as he gently assisted her in coming to a closure with her mother's actions. "Let's start with…"

* * *

**A/N:** I was curious on how Miss Parker would react to the revelations that Catherine was alive after witnessing her supposed suicide and then living long enough to give birth to Ethan. It must have been particularly searing to realize that your role model had feet of clay. Therefore, this is my take on Miss Parker's thoughts and feelings regarding her mother.

Posted on 11 March 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 28

**Sydney & Jacob**

"What are your feelings towards Sydney?" began Tushar. The irritation was palpable in his voice despite his efforts to maintain his professional aura. 

It was the start of another session. The day's beginning wasn't auspicious. Due to several accidents on the freeway, Maureen was late to Tushar's office. She was greeted by a stern visage from the doctor's brown face who was not amused over losing precious therapy time. The doctor's temperament wasn't exactly improved when Jarod still hadn't returned his secretary's phone calls to schedule his next session.

Maureen studied her hands which were folded in her lap. The question took her back to when Sydney was there in the aftermath of Momma's stupid suicide plot. While she waited for Mr. Parker to appear for his perfunctory appearance as a newly minted widower and single father, Sydney sat right next to her, giving her the words of comfort and physical presence that she needed at that moment when her world died. 

"He was there for me when Mr. Parker never did. Not all the time," she hastily amended, "but more than that bastard ever did." Her cheeks heated up. "I'd regretted taking him for granted. I didn't know how fortunate I was." 

Maureen clearly remembered the resentment when she was ordered out of Corporate and put in charge of recapturing Jarod. Teaming up with Sydney, as with Jarod, brought back many memories. And like Jarod, they were bittersweet memories.

Words tumbled out of her as a direct result of her remembrances. "Syd taught me how to dance, learned how to ride a bicycle under his guidance, he always gave me the time and ear to listen when I needed someone, someone adult to talk to when Momma and Mr. Parker weren't around. Little things like that." The duties that a father was supposed to carry out.

"What about Jacob? Where was he? Could you be confusing Sydney with Jacob over these things he'd done for you?" Tushar was well versed when it came to Jarod's observations of Maureen ever since she consented to be treated by him. The Pretender's data, coming out in dribs and drabs, were a godsend in his treatment of her. One of those factoids was Jarod's concern over her well-honed skill at self-deception. A defense mechanism, both men understood, but it was designed for a threat that no longer existed.

Maureen shook her head. "I'm positive it was Sydney. I can't put it in words but I can tell when it was Sydney."

Tushar grunted. "That still brings up my original question. Where was Jacob?"

A frown, a sigh, a shrug. "I don't know." Maureen fixed him with a fierce expression. "Doctor, there are just some questions that I can't answer. I don't know Jacob that well or the rationalizations behind his actions or inactions. If it were in my power, his ass would be right here in this office answering your questions and mine." There was a whole laundry list of questions that she wanted to ask, but more likely to be shouted at him, fists shaken close to his face.

Her answer must have satisfied Tushar since he changed tack. "Things changed after you grew up. You and Sydney." Tushar was constantly amazed at how effective the Centre's psychological conditioning had on Maureen. Thanks to Catherine's ill-fated suicide scheme, a gaping hole appeared in Maureen which Mr. Parker and the rest of Centre's staff immediately exploited.

Maureen grunted out, "Yes, I changed. So did Syd. He kept secrets and me," sniggering for her doctor's edification, "I became Daddy's Angel. I saw nothing, heard nothing, said nothing, and did nothing."

Frowning at her description of herself, Tushar chose to bring it up at a later session. For now, he needed her to open up about her surrogate father and whatever slim pickings he can get of a man, that both he and Maureen, had very little to go on. 

"Dr. Greene kept a lot of secrets from you." Perusing briefly down at his notes, he looked up at her. "He had a son out of wedlock with his lover, let no one knew that Jacob was being looked after in a long-term care facility, tried to kill Dr. Raines, the extreme experiments conducted on Jarod, being a Holocaust survivor," an ironic eyebrow rose at that, "and Catherine seeing him for therapy."

Frustration made her squirm where she sat. It was also evident in her retort. "Do you want me to say that I was fucking pissed off at him for keeping all those secrets from me? Well, okay, doctor," eyes flaring. "I was really ticked off when I found out. Especially about my mother." Rubbing her temples, she regaled him with a stormy look. "He thought it was best that I didn't know what the hell my mother was doing. 

He eyed her sympathetically. "You didn't agree."

"Of course not!" she spat out. "Especially when Jar was sending me clues about Momma." _I need a cigarette right now_. The urge to light up still cropped whenever she was really stressed out. The other outlet for her stress she will never give in to ever again. Not after learning how she was so callously taken advantage of by those Centre scum. "Syd knew I was obsessed with learning more about Momma's secret life and he said nothing to me. Not one damn word came out of him voluntarily. That's what grated me the most." Maureen pounded the sofa cushions viciously. "He only gave up his secrets when me and Jar got him cornered and there was no where to run."

Her disgruntlement needed an outlet, so ignoring Tushar briefly, she grabbed her purse and rummage through the compartments looking for…_aha!_

Gum. To be more precise Wrigley's Juicy Fruit gum. 

Knowing one stick wasn't enough, Maureen took out three sticks and, after quickly unwrapping them, stuck them into her mouth. Her eyes closed in almost bliss as the flavor of the gum flooded her mouth. She chewed rapidly, almost biting her cheek in the process.

"Maureen?" 

She heard her name being called but she ignored it for another moment as her tensed body relaxed fractionally. 

"Miss Greene? Are you done?" Tushar's prissy tone rose louder than normal.

Sighing, Maureen opened her eyes and looked over to Tushar. "I just needed to..."

Holding up his left hand, Tushar told her, "I understand but we're running behind schedule. If you're up to it, I like to resume where we left off."

She sighed, "Of course."

Tapping his thumbs together, Tushar brought up something that immediately caught his attention once he became aware of it. "You changed your surname from Parker to Greene. Are you willing to tell me why and why now?"

The psychiatrist's question brought her dark mood back to life. "I couldn't bear to carry that name anymore." Standing up, Maureen circled the perimeter of Tushar's office. It was awkward but she found a path around his furnishings. There were times, like now, when sitting still was impossible. 

Jaw working furiously on the gum, "My lawyer finally got the paperwork approved by the court several days ago. Which, as far as I'm concerned, wasn't fast enough. But Ryan did it and, now, I'm glad it's over and done with." 

Tushar studied the defiant posture of Maureen as she marched past him for the third time. Another self-defense mechanism. Making yourself much bigger than you really were. One reason why she wore the four or five inch stiletto heels. 

"You only answered why now but not why?" he pointed out relentlessly.

Maureen stopped to give him a pensive stare before starting up again to circle his office. She began to speak in a soft quivery voice. "It's the only thing I will ever have from him. I never heard him sing happy birthday to me and never will, Jacob will never be there for the father and daughter dance at my wedding," her soul ached at that tantalizing dream with Jarod, "he'll never get to play with his grandkids. And," emphasizing the words, "I'll always have Sydney to remind me of what I've lost. I lost someone that I never even knew that I had, doctor. How do you explain this empty feeling over losing a man who was never involved in my life?

"Easily. You lost your father several times," ticking them off on his fingers. "The first time when you were born, the second time when he and Sydney were pushed off the road turning him into an invalid, the third time when your mother quote "committed suicide" unquote where she never gotten around to telling the truth of your parentage, and lastly when Jacob died." There were other occasions but the four he just brought up were the most important for the course of therapy he was using with her.

Maureen had her arms crossed across her chest and was rubbing her upper arms worriedly. She soaked up Tushar's points with a grave look on her face. Her gum chewing slowed down considerably as some of the pent up stress was relieved by talking about some more festering issues from her tortured life.

"I wasn't there when he died," she guiltily opined. She resumed talking, deciding to bring up something that had troubled her ever since finding out who her father was. "I was only there to comfort Sydney. Trying in my own little way to repay him for what he did for me. I never even realized that I was staring at my own father's grave when I was there."

"Don't punish yourself over something you had no control over. It was a secret that kept you in the dark," Tushar sternly told her. 

Resuming her walk around the office, her careworn face steadily fixed on Tushar's own intelligent face, "You know that Mr. Parker ordered me to kill Jacob." Jar warned her that Tushar had access to all the Centre's DSAs and the other archival materials seized in the raid.

Tushar displayed an elegant shrug, letting her know that he knew what she was referring to. "If you did and found out later, most likely from Jarod, I would be the one to glue you back together again from pieces much, much smaller than what I have to work with right now." 

_Patricide. God, what the hell kind of people would work for the Centre?_ Tushar's revulsion left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jacob's daughter graced him with a sad mocking smile. "Didn't know you were into construction." Chewing energetically, she admitted to the doctor, "You're right, Dr. Tushar. I would have been a wreck for killing my father. I wonder if he even loved me."

The answer her doctor gave her came out calmly and with certainty. "It's natural and normal, Maureen, to wonder. But never wonder whether Jacob Greene loved you. He was not Mr. Parker," continuing his strenuous job to exorcise that mass murderer's spirit out of his patient. "Jacob, along with your mother, gave life to you. You were born out of love and not due to some sordid machinations of the Centre." 

He paused to see if his words had any effect on her. Seeing that it hasn't yet, he expounded further. 

"Blood is thicker than water, Maureen," as he gently advised her. "That's the empty feeling that you mentioned earlier. It is perfectly alright to wonder what kind of man your father was, how your life would have changed if Jacob lived long enough to rescue you and your mother from that hellhole. Never doubt that he would have rescued you." He finished with, "I would also say how his love and affection for you would have steer you away from becoming the person Mr. Parker turned you into."

Her mouth chewed, chewed, and chewed over the gum as Tushar's litany of observations underwent her evaluation. Swiveling her body, Maureen pointed out, "That is something I'll never know."

Leaning on his elbows as he peered at the still walking and chewing woman. "Maureen, you do have Sydney, the uncle who knew your father better than any other human being on this planet." He countered her funereal mood with a couple more sage pieces of advice. "Go see Sydney about the questions that you've been burning to know. He won't be able to answer all of them but I have a gut feeling that he has enough answers to give you some peace." Seeing that she was still with him, he concluded with, "Lastly, either he or Jarod should know where Jacob's belongings are. Perhaps by holding onto to them, they'll give you the last physical connection, however tenuous they may be, to your father."

Once Tushar finished advising, Maureen took a moment to reflect on how deeply she was affected she was when Jarod took her to her belonging. She knew the same feelings would come back once she got a hold of Jacob's possessions. 

Demonstrating her frayed nerves, she looked at him and asked in a plaintive tone, "What do I say to him? I mean, shit, he's my uncle when I wished he could be my daddy!" Her eyes begged Dr. Tushar for guidance, some direction to the crazy quilt map that was her life.

"Try this, Maureen." Tushar gathered his breath then spoke. "Repeat after me. Hello, Sydney. My name is Maureen Greene. Jacob was my father which means I'm your niece."

Maureen, fighting her nerves, stutteringly repeated his words. 

The doctor was satisfied and it showed on his face with a small grin. The Indian said, "Now that you're pointed in the right direction, go and be reunited with your uncle. God knows, you deserve to be with your family."

"A family reunion. Who would have thought it," asked Maureen in a distracted manner.

* * *

**A/N:** The Greene brothers were somewhat interesting to write about. If this chapter isn't up to par with my previous postings, it's because Steve and Craig made them very grayish which meant I didn't really connect with them. I know a lot of fans like to have Sydney as her father. In fact, there are quite a few fanfics with that written in mind. And because of that, I went the other route. Jacob was a cipher on the show. S & C didn't flesh him out so I could write him any way I please. So I did. Not much but it's there for you to read.

Sydney has a lot of fans. A surprise for me since I'm not really a fan of the character. Some reviewers have asked or wondered whether Sydney will appear in future chapters. The answer is, he will not. 

When I plotted out this story, all the supporting characters: Mr. Parker, Raines, Lyle, Broots, Debbie, and Sydney were deliberately written out early in order for me to concentrate on the JMPR as well as the friendship between Jarod, MP, and Timmy. Faith is included because I just love the character with the what- might- have beens if the writers have allowed her to live to adulthood as well as providing Timmy with a love interest.

This story is about the children of the Centre. It's about being survivors of an abusive environment and their efforts to create lives outside of the long shadow cast by the Centre. It is as well a story of childhood friendships crushed under the weight of the Centre and their determined efforts to reconnect with each other in spite of all the baggage they carry around inside them.

This a/n is long because I want Sydney's fans to know why he won't be appearing in upcoming chapters and why my story is the way it is. It is also to let you know that I intend to complete this story by year's end. Hopefully much earlier. Like autumn. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 29

**Timmy**

_Weird_, thought the doctor. Walking alongside his gloomy patient, the summer sun beating down on them through breaks in the trees, Tushar was sweating in his business casual attire. Belatedly, he should have heeded Jarod's _girlfriend_ advice and changed into something more comfortable. However, being the overly confident doctor that he was, Tushar ignored her. He was a doctor who doesn't take advice from his patients. It was always the other way around.

The large regional park was mostly empty since it was morning on a workday. Preferably, Tushar would have been sitting in his office with Maureen starting in on another therapy session. But she forcefully made him give in her to request, cough, demand, cough, that they get out of his stuffy office and head over to open space, fresh air, and lots and lots of living things.

That was why they were here on a walking path. A path they had all to themselves until the lunch crowd with their joggers, walkers, and others would show up. The Indian was partly mollified by wearing comfortable walking shoes so his not unreasonable fear of developing blisters was abated.

Tushar's hands itched from what was missing. His omnipresent notebook and pen. Rather than a notebook, he had to rely on his digital voice recorder. Something he wasn't one hundred percent happy since he can write down comments that he wasn't ready to share with Miss Parker or needed to conduct additional research for future sessions.

"It's a beautiful morning," Maureen Greene began. Her inclination to let Tushar kick off each session was ignored today. It was due to the sensitivity of this session and its subject.

Timmy.

"It is," confirmed Tushar, taking in the blue sky overhead and the canopy of shade provided by the trees in their summer glory. Taking Maureen's statement as an icebreaker, Tushar began their session.

"What kind of friend was Timmy?" Tushar asked.

"One of my best and oldest friends," Maureen emphatically declared. "I don't deserve him. Why he stuck by me through thick and thin, I'll never understand." Overwhelming guilt attacked her. She felt sick to her stomach over the things that she saw and heard done to him and did nothing but standing by silently. Her guilt deepened as her part in dehumanizing him gripped her in its unforgiving memories.

It was a good question, rhetorical, of course, since Timmy wasn't his patient. The doctor marshaled his memories as he went back to the DSAs that he reviewed. The appalling emotional, mental, and physical abuses visited upon Timmy by the Centre's staff. His lips curled in contempt and rebuke at Miss Parker aka Maureen since she contributed her own share of cruelty towards a defenseless Timmy.

Unwillingly, Tushar had to bring up a possibility which just popped into his mind right then. "Perhaps he saw something in you that no one else does."

Ignorant of Tushar's thoughts regarding her role in Timmy's abuse, "What would that be, doctor?" Turning her head to look at his slim profile, Maureen said, "I already know that I'm seen by others as a bitch, a slut, and worse." She fell into a depressed silence.

Maureen was dressed in a black shorts and white tank top ensemble showing off her tanned body. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, topped off with a visor. A pair of sunglasses was perched on top of her head. A pair of athletic walking shoes completed her ensemble.

"If you're sure about other people's opinions regarding you, than you must have an inkling of Timmy's feelings towards you." Tushar didn't doubted Maureen's voicing what others thought of her, he shared a mutual belief that she had a bitchy persona. However, he knew what the others didn't. That the environment she grew up in demanded she adopted the bitchy attitude to survive.

What the doctor doubted was her certitude that she knew what Timmy thought of her. Of which, he was going to hear from right now.

"He hates me," she pronounced. Maureen had to stop. She had to gulp down air several times as her chest tightened. How else can he feel about me? She tried to cling to the warm welcome he gave her when they were reunited but the other memories, the horrible remembrances of things done to him by her and the rest of the Centre staff gradually eroded away whatever any good feelings she had about Timmy welcoming her home.

Tushar stopped as soon as Maureen did. He watched over her, making sure she was alright. Just in case, though, he patted the right side of his waist where his cell phone was holstered in reassurance that it was still there if he had to call 911.

Maureen felt her chest eased up, though her guilt hadn't. Taking one more deep breath, she let it out before saying to the concerned psychiatrist, "Sorry. I, uh, got overwhelmed."

Tushar sympathetically responded, "I understand." Giving her a visual once over making sure she was physically alright, he went back to what they were discussing before her guilt trip. "Aren't you too harsh on yourself? I'm really skeptical that one of your closest friends would hate you over circumstances that were beyond your control."

A doubtful look briefly showed on Maureen's face. Resuming their walk, she said, "Why can't I be hard on myself? I did wrong by abandoning him to the tender mercy of the damn Centre." She pinched the bridge of her nose. An obvious indicator of something painful that she was about to say. "I was his friend once."

"And you are his friend now," he resolutely reminded her, determined to emphasize every positive aspect of the friendship she shared with Timmy.

Maureen sniffed disdainfully as they rounded a corner. "Some friend I am. Calling him names and mocking him when he needed a friend." Left hand curled into a fist, she hit herself on her thigh. "A friend who should have protected him but wouldn't."

Tushar had to pick up his pace to keep up with Maureen's long-legged stride. "Why did you call him all those derogatory names like Cousin It, freak, and furball, etc.?"

The path they walked was paved with a white stripe divider for people moving in both directions. Here and there, both of them saw some people, mainly retirees enjoying a stroll or stay at home parents playing with their children. Maureen wondered if Timmy would enjoy it here. She remembered taking Jarod out of his cell once in a while like that time up on the roof when snow fell. She'll never forget for as long as she lived that look of absolute awe and joy on the Pretender's face as he saw snow for the first in his life.

Maureen needed to do the same for Timmy. Treat him to something special which she should have done when they were children.

Sorrow decorated her face. The light in her eyes dimmed as her guilt and regrets resurfaced. "I wanted to fit in, to please Mr. Parker, to show that I could be just as callous, just as vicious, just as cruel as everyone whoever worked in the goddamn Centre." Her eyes teared. "I wanted to pick on those who couldn't fight back, couldn't defend themselves, the weak and useless ones as Daddy constantly described them. We had to show everyone that we Parkers were in charge and on top of the world."

Tushar took it all in, even her slip of calling Mr. Parker Daddy. Timmy was a very sore spot for her since Maureen was adamant about not using the word Daddy when it came to Gregory Parker. He resolved to replay the recording later for a deeper analysis of Maureen Greene.

Overhead, the birds sang aloud to the glory of the morning while below them was a man trying to help a very troubled woman with unhealed wounds courtesy of a cruel and unforgiving institution. If those creatures could have stopped and listen, with the ability to understand what was being said, they might change their songs of glory to songs of sorrow.

Tushar reached out and patted her comfortingly on her left shoulder. "You were a young girl who lost your moral anchor in your mother. You did what you had to in order to please the man who you believe was your father as well as to survive inside the Centre. You had no choice." The doctor was badly mistaken if he thought his words would ease her guilt.

Maureen reached out and placed her hand on his chest, making him stop. Her blue-gray eyes were stormy as she spat out, "You don't understand, doctor." Seeing the waiting look he was throwing at her, she pleaded for him to understand, "Don't you see? In the Centre, I had to be the alpha female. Otherwise, I would've been devoured by the pack of scum there. I was going to be _the_ predator in that hellhole in order to live." Her hand dropped lifelessly from his body. "Even if the price was sacrificing Timmy."

Tushar rubbed his thumb on the underside of his chin as he poured over what she expressed just now. He could see where Maureen was coming from but from another angle, he saw what she refused to see. "Did you ever consider asking Timmy what he thought of you becoming _the_ Miss Parker?"

Maureen looked away from the doctor. Crossing her arms, she began walking away from him. Tushar followed a couple of paces behind her. He got the feeling that she needed some space right now.

The doctor's question rang through her mind. She did briefly considered asking Timmy but her soul quivered at what she imagined he would tell her.

_I hate you! You gave me up to them! You chose the Centre over me! Our friendship meant nothing to you! You let them abused me!_

Maureen looked over her shoulder at the trailing doctor. She slowed down long enough for him to come even with her before resuming her stroll down a very dark memory lane. "I should have been his protector in the Centre, not another of his tormenters. He couldn't defend himself. I had the power to stop it. I got the ear of Mr. Parker. Why didn't I do anything to stop it?!" Her anguish came clearly over her voice.

Tushar dwelled on her question for a moment before he answered. An answer he hoped would ease her conscience. "You gave yourself too much credit, Maureen. In our other sessions as well as the background that you and Jarod provided me, you were just as much a victim as Timmy. It is highly doubtful you could have done anything to guard him against all the outrages done to him. You were just a young girl when all this started…"

Maureen interrupted him as she whipped her head back and forth to deny what she was hearing. With a slight edge in her voice, she told him, "That girl grew up and knew what the Centre was all about. The woman that I became ignored Timmy. The only times that I came in contact with him was to use him to bring my other best friend, the man that I love, back to the Centre in chains." A hysterical sob. "I am such a bitch to do that to my two best friends!"

An undercurrent of concern coursed through Tushar's body. Maureen's face showed the strain she was under. He was surprised at the depth of her self-inflicted guilt to her psyche. He cursed this outdoor excursion. Right now, he wanted to write down on his beloved notebook that he needed to see what exactly the relationship between her and the two men was when they were children to make such mark on her. In fact, he needed to call Jarod to see if he can conduct an interview with Timmy. He wanted to see what was it about him that made Maureen so burdened down by guilt.

However, he had a more immediate priority. He needed to buck up her downtrodden spirit. And to get her to realize that her friendship with Timmy was not irrevocably broken.

"Are you still a bitch to them today or will be tomorrow?" he harshly asked her.

Maureen was shocked by the question. "Of course not!" she shot back. How dare he ask her that?

Tushar blandly said, "Then are you still friends with Timmy? Is he still talking to you? Given you the cold shoulder? How is he treating right now?" Seeing he had no response, he prompted her more forcefully. "Well?"

His questions came in a staccato, demanding that she respond in a hurried manner. It was a tactic that Tushar used to get his patients off-balance in order for them to reveal the first thoughts that came to their minds.

Maureen, already upset, responded just as he hoped. "Yes, I'm still friends with him. He's talked to me this morning before I came over to see you," glaring at him, "and, no, he didn't give me the cold shoulder." By now she was almost stomping down the path. Her anger, always simmering underneath the surface, was beginning to boil from the unerring accuracy of the doctor's questions of her friendship with Timmy.

"There's more to this guilt trip that you're on, Maureen," Tushar voice took on a softer tone. He got what he wanted from her with the previous burst of questions. Now, he wanted to peel back another layer from Maureen.

Maureen Greene or, if you prefer, Miss Parker, was like an onion or one those famous Russian matryoshka dolls. Layer after layer of Maureen waiting to be discovered by him. No, he instructed himself, to be healed by him. Timmy caused Maureen to reveal more than her usual share of layers. It intrigued him to find out how many layers she possessed when it came to the people in her life.

"Did you know he was almost a mute when he was a boy, doctor?" muttered Maureen. Her angry stride eased up. The pacing she set herself for was making her sweat. An unintended, though beneficial, side effect was that she was getting some decent exercise.

"Yes, the DSAs showed him barely able to vocalize with others." _Where is she going with this?_

While her pace slowed in deference to Tushar's laggardly steps, Maureen's voice still retained its intensity. "I should have been his voice. His advocate. I understood him. Jar was the only one else who shared that gift."

Tushar was displeased at her obtuseness. Maureen was viewing at the actions she did as a young girl through the prism of an adult woman and that woman won't forgive the girl's inactions or choices. The months of psychotherapy with her sometimes led him to the desire to shake some sense through that pigheadedness of hers. However much he wanted to do it, he always held back for fear of being sent to the hospital by her.

Therefore, instead of shaking Maureen as he wanted to, the psychiatrist rephrased his arguments yet again to convince her to ease up on the young girl.

"There you go again, Maureen," he began. "You're being too hard on yourself." Tushar ignored her hot glare as they continued to stroll through the park.

"You know what I'm saying," she argued. Maureen didn't like the charge that Tushar was accusing her of. "I know perfectly well that I could order the sweepers away from Timmy, prevent the medical staff from _experimenting_," she hatefully spat out that word, "on him, and…"

"Stop it!" barked Tushar. If she won't protect herself from herself, he would just have to assume the mantle himself. "First off," wagging his finger scoldingly right under her nose, "Mr. Parker could care less what you think. Timmy was Centre property, just like you." Maureen's eyes iced over at that reminder, "Next, any orders you gave to any of the staff were not obeyed but humored because that was how Mr. Parker wanted it. Remember, he was molding you into his image, not into the Centre's clone of Mother Theresa.

Maureen forcibly slapped Tushar's finger away from her. "Don't you ever do that again! I don't a need a lecture from a smart ass like you when it comes to Timmy!" She didn't care how loud she was or who in the park was listening. Tushar with his uncanny ability to go right to the heart of the matter left her quaking from the idea that she had no control over Timmy's fate as a young boy. That she was useless, as a small dark voice whispered to her over the decades of her life. Ever since it came to life with the loss of Momma.

"I also want to point out that Timmy is a survivor. He survived everything that the Centre did to him. Not only that, Maureen, he was a fighter. He covered your ass as well as Jarod's. He fought, in his own way, to bring down the Centre and lived to see it actually happened."

Tushar felt the adrenaline surging through his veins as this sermonizing as well as her slapping his finger got his temper riled up. It was his temper though, not his genial psychiatrist persona, that got through to her by the last barb that he threw at her.

"You don't feel guilty about Timmy. You pity him then, you pity him now. Out of that pity, Miss Parker, you lost respect for him. Do a favor for Timmy. Stop pitying him and start respecting him like the man that he is today."

Tushar was done. Done with her. Done with being the nice shrink. Dealing with Maureen Parker or Greene or whatever the hell she wanted to call herself today was wearisome and draining. He needed to get away from her and recover his equilibrium for his next patient.

Maureen watched her doctor's departing back. His words like angry bees flying around her head. The buzz in her ear, her heart pulsing rapidly, made her feel like she was going through an out of body experience.

_Was he right? Is that all I feel about him? Pity? I respect him! I think…_

The day was warm with the sun out, people gradually filling up the park as the lunch hour approached. Through the sounds of people's voices, the barking of dogs, the whoosh of bikes going by rapidly stood a troubled woman gazing inwardly at herself. Chilled by words that scared her, shamed her, and haunted her.

_Timmy!_

* * *

**A/N:** Just a reminder to my readers. These therapy sessions are composite sessions. Since they span weeks to months of therapy with her doctor, I combined them into a single chapter for each person that Miss Parker have issues with.

Posted on 26 March 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 30

**Broots & Debbie**

Affection mixed with irritation was vividly demonstrated by the twisted smile on Maureen's face. "The pencil neck geek was right," Maureen groused. "Right in not having Debbie growing up to be just like me."

"Just what were you that forced Mr. Broots to make a conscious decision not to let his daughter emulate you?"

She stared blankly at a spot above Tushar's head, her mind worlds away and far into the past. Remembering a bubbly, happy, and naïve girl who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. An innocent girl who accepted her parent's marriage as perfect. A trusting soul who took people's words at their face value.

Maureen felt the burden that rested between her shoulders for decades as she answered in a monotone. "A girl who lost her innocence. An embittered, angry woman. A cynical creation of the Centre." Clasping her hands behind her back, she shuffled slowly over to one of the book-lined shelves to the right of Tushar's desk. Not bothering to look at his scrutinizing brown eyes, Maureen spoke to the leather bound books instead. Her voice choked out, "That was what forced Broots to get off his ass and save Debbie. He saved her from me."

One hand resting on his cheek, the other silently drumming the desktop, Dr. Tushar studied her from behind. Maureen had on a gray pencil skirt with a matching low cut black sleeveless halter blouse. The stiletto heels she wore made her much taller than she really was. All in all, a stunning woman, he judged. If he swung that way of course. Since he wasn't, he was not affected by her aesthetic appearance.

The sessions so far have given him a better idea and a clearer picture of his patient. Mentally and emotionally abused since childhood. Her sheer strength at not succumbing to all the horrors that was wreaked on her was something to behold. That was a problem. She endured everything that the Centre threw at her but Maureen hadn't been able to thrive, to grow, or to bloom as she was entitled to. A problem he resolved to fix.

"So you're not mad at Broots for doing what he did?" He waited patiently for her to gather herself.

Still keeping her face away from him, the fingers of her right hand running along the books feeling the rough leather texture of the books, she retorted, "How could I? To be honest, if I were him, I would have taken Debbie and vamoosed out of there years earlier. Trust me, doctor, the Centre would never have made it onto any "best places to work for" lists."

Lobbing another question at her back, "Hmmm, you seem to be very forgiving of Mr. Broots' betrayal of the Centre and of you. Certainly, you must be _pissed off_," heavy emphasis on the crude phrase, "at him for that at least."

Maureen's fingers stopped their roaming as they turned into a fist and slammed it onto the bookshelf. Bucking her desire to turn around, she ground out painfully an admission, "Pissed off is right. I was hurt by his betrayal. I thought we were friends and I let him, Sydney being the other one, into parts of my life that were off limits to everyone else." The fist unclenched back to fingers as she put her right hand down by her side.

"So Broots is no longer your friend." He left it hanging in the air as a statement.

His patient lost interest in the books and headed over to the planter in the corner where a large artificial plant was located. Maureen grabbed one of the low hanging plastic leaves and rubbed her left thumb and forefinger on it several times. Finished rubbing it, she looked over her right shoulder to take in the doctor who was eyeballing her.

"Broots is my friend," she contradicted Tushar. "He still has my friendship if he wants it. I won't take it back just because he did the right thing by Debbie."

Tushar quickly took advantage of the opening Maureen left him for. "Debbie's also a good friend?"

The doctor would have been disappointed since he didn't saw the wide smile Maureen displayed at his mention of her friendship with Debbie. "You could say that," a trace of humor showed in her reply.

"More than that?" probed Tushar. He quickly discarded the idea that it might a sexual one since Maureen didn't fit the profile of a child molester. Still he had to consider it due to the extensive reports of children being abused in this manner at the Centre. Especially when he learned what went on in the Renewal Wing. The bile threatened to rise in his throat even just remembering about it right now.

Again, Tushar would've been disappointment since he missed another smile coming from Maureen. This time it was a poignant smile. "Debbie was the closest thing to a daughter I will ever have."

Another line of inquiry opened up for the doctor. "Do you want children?"

Thoughts of Jarod immediately popped to mind. "Oh, yes." Images of boys and girls with both of hers and Jarod's features zipped past her mind's eye. "I definitely want children. My clock's ticking away you know."

"Then why don't you?" Tushar curiously wanted to know.

Maureen finally turned around and faced him. Her voice was uneven by the tumultuous feelings that his question brought up. The bastard was good, echoing Jarod's observation even as she answered him. "The man that I wanted to have children with was beyond my reach." An ambivalent sigh. "Until now."

There was no doubt who she was referencing. "Jarod," Tushar declared to her.

Wryness showed in the slight lifting of her lips and the quick tightening around her eyes. "Bingo. Give the man a big hand, folks." She clapped her hands three times before dropping them back to her sides.

Tushar rankled at her sarcasm. He should have been prepared for it, since before sitting down with her and starting her sessions, he went over the intel collected by the various federal agencies as well as what little Jarod bothered to reveal to him, to get a better grasp of her background. "Why don't you stop _pretending_," stressing the word, "to be a talk radio host and act more like someone who's willing to accept help ," he snapped.

"I don't need your help," she countered. Moving away from the planter, she circled around the sofa. "I refused to be just another specimen for you to poke and prod and probe. I'm a human being."

Rocketing out of his chair, heedless of the sound of the chair slamming into the wall behind him, he leaned over the desk, supported by his fists. "Do. Not. Equate. Me. With. Your. Centre. Doctors." He enunciated each word forcefully.

Tushar's fury came by honestly. He had to heal and patch over all the emotional and mental traumas inflicted by the Centre on Jarod and they were draining him. Jarod was his toughest patient to ever treat. Now, looking at this infuriating woman, he was reevaluating whether she was going to knock off Jarod's off his exalted perch. He snorted derisively. Maureen probably would have derived a perverse pleasure for finally beating Jarod at something, anything really. They deserve each other, he thought caustically.

What Tushar wouldn't admit to himself was that he became the last casualty of the Centre. He had nightmares after watching DSAs and the other archival materials seized by the government. Things that were done there that made one's stomach churn in horror.

Maureen was taken aback by the animated reaction of her doctor. Tushar was always the calm and collected shrink. His stinging rebuttal forced her to cool down her always present temper. "I'm tired of you, doctor," she announced. "I'm sick of coming here, constantly hearing you cajoling me to open up on everyone and everything in my life. I just want to go home and be with Jarod." Her tone was downcast.

"Don't snivel, Miss Greene," the doctor said unsympathetically. He reached behind him to pull the chair forward. After settling back into his chair and regaining his composure, he leveled his eyes on Maureen. "It doesn't suit your character. You're a fighter, a survivor. You ran the Centre's gauntlet and came out bloodied, battered, and bruised. Yet, you're still standing. If you walk out of my office again, this time for good, that just proves that you're a quitter." Picking up his gold pen and tapping it on left hand palm, he challenged her by saying, "Are you a quitter?"

Indignant, she hotly replied, "Hell, no!" Her self-pity vanished when she heard that word. She never quit on anything or anyone. Maureen wasn't about to start now. "I don't quit. Ever."

Tushar nodded in silent satisfaction. "Good. Sit down and let's get back to our original subject which is Broots and Debbie."

"Fine. Whatever," she grumpily said, deciding to sit on the sofa today.

"Are you comfortable around children?" he inquired, picking up his notebook.

Brushing her hair back behind her ears, Maureen hated these unpredictable questions. She didn't have any canned answers that can keep him happy and off her back. Ruefully, she admitted, "No. Not at first. I didn't see what was so special about them at the time I began my career at the Centre. My thinking was always fixed on the idea of children as balls and chains cramping my lifestyle."

An amused look crossed Tushar's features. "A confirmed bachelorette?"

Mirroring his grin with one of her own, Maureen confirmed, "Pretty much."

"Jarod changed that belief."

Maureen shook her brown tresses. "No, it wasn't him. It was Debbie. After babysitting her several times, she showed me that I could handle a child." Abashedly, she explained. "Before her, I was scared, let me rephrase that, clueless as to how to deal with them or how to act around them. Broots proved to me that if he can handle a girl 24/7 than I can, too."

Tushar quickly scribbled a note. _Broots is a role model for Maureen._ Looking up at her, he asked another question. "From what you're saying, Broots surprised you by fathering a child…"

She interrupted him, "And getting laid in the first place without the assistance of a blowup doll."

"Hmm," replied Tushar without commenting on her vulgar opinion. "But he did and nature did the rest. He's got a daughter that he obviously dotes on."

Maureen didn't bother to answer him. It was a question that didn't need her to open her mouth. Instead, she waited with feigned patience for the next question.

Picking up his pen again, he chose to bring Jarod into the mix now. "Your experiences with Broots and Debbie convinced you that you could be a successful mother. Does Jarod know about your maternal feelings?"

Maureen gulped hard several times before she could reply. "No. I don't think this is the time for me to tell him that I want to be the mother of his children." Jarod and she were becoming close, much closer than her first hope when she showed up on his doorsteps. But it was still rocky, something she didn't want to push too hard, too fast for fear of it crumbling.

"Children? More than one?" Tushar pounced on her grammatical slip of the tongue.

Again, Jarod's sharp observation. Dr. Tushar was too good for his britches sometimes. He got her cornered and the only way he'll let her go was to answer his damn question. "Yes. I…" sighing out loud, "It was a girlish fantasy of mine." Her fantasies of marrying Jarod and giving him his children. _A son, Jarod. You have a son._ "Stupid isn't it?"

Her Centre imprinting surfaced with that last comment. Tushar resolved to remove it now. "No, it isn't stupid. Not when you're this close to seeing it becoming a reality." Seeing the doubtful mien on her, he ordered her, "Look at me." He waited until she had her eyes on his, then he went on the attack. "This isn't the Centre. It's dead. You can raise a child or children with Jarod without fear of what the Parkers may think. Unless you believe in ghosts, the Parkers are dead. You can live the life of a typical American nuclear family to your heart's content." Slamming his open hand palm of his left hand hard onto his desktop blotter, making Maureen flinch from the loud noise, "Are you going to let Mr. Parker defeat you again? Prevent you from having that family you've always wanted?"

Only one word escaped Maureen's lips. "Never."

* * *

**A/N:** I liked the few scenes where we see the maternal side of Miss Parker when she babysat Debbie. The over the top one, for me, was her dressing up Debbie just like her was hilarious.

I think babysitting Debbie has helped Miss Parker open up to the possibility of having her own children in the future. With our favorite Pretender, of course!

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 31

**Lyle**

Maureen's visceral reaction to Tushar's question came quickly. "I wish he was never my brother but what I want and what I got are two totally different things."

The doctor didn't respond verbally to her answer right away. Rather, he wrote down two words that summed up what he observed of her when it came to the late unlamented Mr. Lyle.

_Jealousy? Fear?_

"Did you resent that he was your brother?" Perusing her, he carefully worked in, "Could it be that he was your rival for Mr. Parker's affections? Your carefully carved out territory where you and your surrogate father inhabited, which was once solely yours, now you have to share with a newly revealed brother. You must have been quite upset."

Tushar made it sound so reasonable, so obvious that Maureen almost agreed immediately. She caught herself in time though. Any sisterly love for her brother was worn away from all the dangerous maneuverings, sickening crimes, and his sociopathy that he blithely laid bare to anyone willing to see them, someone like herself.

"No," her immediate denial falling on skeptical ears. Tushar already saw her pattern. Him bringing up a carefully considered intimation and her speedily shooting it down. On occasions, she was right when he got it wrong. Tushar got the strong feeling that this wasn't one of those times. "Lyle could never claim Mr. Parker's feelings like he did for me."

"That's strange," Tushar said, "since in our other sessions where we discussed Mr. Parker, we've both agreed that Gregory Parker saw you as the ultimate punishment on Catherine for cheating on him and a creating a tool to further his agenda."

Maureen felt her face heating up with embarrassment and anger for Tushar's keen insight and acumen. Lips pursing from her reactions to the doctor's findings, she heatedly denied what she imparted. "You're twisting my words! You ought to know by now that I hate that fucker!"

The psychiatrist steepled his fingers as he watched her. He let the silence stretched out until it made Maureen uncomfortable enough to spit out, "Are you going to just sit there like a statue or you got something profound to say to me?"

When Dr. Tushar finally did spoke up, he took care not to bring up Gregory Parker. The long shadow of _Daddy_ was ever-present in his sessions with the former Centre employee.

He was still treating her for that dead old man. But, now, the bogeyman that was Mr. Lyle also needed to be dealt with.

"How do you think Lyle felt about you?" His voice finally broke through the dense bubble of anger that Maureen was putting out.

"How the hell should I know?" speaking sharply at him, Maureen tried some calming breathing exercises that Jarod showed her ever since she started these damnable shrinkfests, exercises that Jarod sympathetically told her that he used whenever he left a session bloodied and beaten by the good doctor.

Tushar had memorized Maureen's life as gathered by Jarod and the government. Information he used to best effect to heal her. "I believe an associate of yours, a Mr. Broots, culled a lot of Centre data on your brother. Plus," he added, not moving a muscle, "I was told you interacted with him in Parker family gatherings."

Maureen had her long legs crossed. Her booted left leg was kicking air, an unsubtle sign that the woman was agitated. "I just told you how I felt about Lyle. I didn't want that cannibal to be my brother." Jabbing her right hand in a chopping motion, she admonishingly spat out to the slim doctor, "Do you want that kind of psycho in your family tree?"

"No, I don't." The doctor finally stirred in his chair. Looking pointedly at her finger until she got the unspoken message, Maureen pulled her hand back. With that, he told her, "But this is not about me. It's about you. You don't want Lyle to be family. What I want to hear from you is why? What were the actions he committed, words he said, what did he represented to you that brings out this, I hesitate to use the word hate, but you're close, very close to fitting that definition."

The former Miss Parker felt the heat of her anger slowly dissipating. She could end these sessions and buried her past. But Jarod and Timmy would be on her like white on rice demanding that she continue until they were satisfied that she was at their level of recovery. Right now, however, she wasn't even close to their level. Far from it.

Rubbing her forehead, creased in dissatisfaction at being here, she vented a disgusted sigh. Since she opened up about a lot of other people in her messed up life, she might as well keep on doing it.

"I was going to kill him." Laughing self-deprecatingly, she pinned Tushar with a withering look. "In fact, I did shot him. I was sure he was killed. But you know what?"

Tushar asked, following her cue. "What?"

"Like Rasputin, you think you killed him off, Lyle shows up, very much alive and kicking. The Parkers have more lives than a cat or more to the point, cockroaches. Every time you think they're dead, they come back to haunt you, live and in color."

"But he wasn't a Parker, Maureen. He was a Greene. The flesh of Jacob Greene and Catherine Jamison," in a nod to her sensitivity over the Parker surname. "Same as yours."

A hot retort. "Don't remind me! Did you know that Lyle and I were going to act out the Cain and Able scene for the Centre?" Contempt was etched on her tanned face. "Their idea of amusement. The motherfuckers," visibly expressing her opinion of long dead troublemakers. "Either I kill my brother or Lyle kills me, his sister. What a sick farce," shaking her head at that depressing scenario.

A corner of his mouth rose. "When you were still there, did it ever occur to you that you didn't have to play their game. You could've changed the rules or even not play at all." He had her attention as he spun out possibilities that she never considered or didn't analyze them as thoroughly as she might have. "Why did you have to kill Lyle? Did he, the Centre, or the Triumvirate pushed you into a corner? Demanded your fealty to those organizations by killing him?"

She slapped the armrests of her chair as Maureen voiced out her bleak choices. "I didn't want to kill him." Giving the doctor a look begging that he understand her, "I'm a lot of things, made a lot of bad choices, but I never wanted to be a killer. There are so much things I'm ashamed of doing that I don't dare look myself in the mirror because of them but," hugging her arms about to ward off a nonexistent chill, "killing someone else at the Centre's behest…" Maureen took some time to gather herself. Resuming where she left off, "I could never forgive myself."

Dr. Tushar watched without any visible emotions. He just entered a few more findings, moved his gold pen aimlessly about his desktop blotter before he asked another question. "You had no choice that one time when you had to shoot him." The psychiatrist saw her nod slowly. "Were the other times when you were tempted to kill him the same sort of situation? You had no choice at all?"

Maureen frayed nerves left her tense. Lyle was a loathsome creature. A thing she wanted as little contact with as possible. "They were." A ragged breath. "They were close to leaving me with no choice," she slowly drew out. "But something would alter the situation leaving with an out." Shrugging, irony as she informed him, "Jarod was usually that something. He saved me." Her heart flip-flopped as this session opened her eyes to what Jar did for her.

He saved her soul.

Again.

"When you found out that Lyle was your brother, was your first reaction elation? Joy? Relief that you have another flesh and blood relative? That you were no longer the only child?" Tushar wanted to test his hypothesis. Did jealousy cloud her judgment where Lyle was concerned?

Maureen almost scowled at him. He tore her away from thinking about Jar and his loving deeds. Concealing her annoyance, she answered him. "I got bad vibes from him at our first meeting. The way he looked at me." She shuddered in revulsion from the creepy memories of him giving a look that made her skin crawl.

"How did he look at you?"

"Like a rapist or a child molester would look, I would imagine," she snarled at him.

Stroking his chin contemplatively, the wiry doctor continued his questioning. "Even after he found out you were his twin sister?"

Maureen didn't bother disguising her repugnance. Pressing her legs tightly together, she told him, "It only titillated him even more. The temptation of forbidden fruits was a major turn on." She wanted to take a long shower because it made her felt dirty just from the leers that he gave her. "He gave me the creeps."

Tushar thought back to the multiple psychological profilings of Lyle compiled by the agencies of the US government as well as by the Israelis. With his TOP SECRET/SCI clearance, he had no problem accessing them.

All the profiles shared a conclusion that Lyle was a being so warped by the Centre that any semblance to a civilized human being was unimaginable. Reading between the lines, he could feel the nausea induced by the fact of Lyle's cannibalism and the other grotesquery applied to him and by him on others.

The psychopathy that was artificially induced in him was of paramount interest among the various law enforcement and national security apparatuses of the US and its allies.

Though abhorrent and cruel the process that the boy Bobby was forced to undergo in order to transform into the adult Mr. Lyle, the cops and spies analyzed the procedure to make sure that they were on the alert for someone or someones similar to him and to prevent this method from ever being used by al-Qaeda and its fanatical fellow travelers.

On edge from remembering those unpleasant sexual innuendos from Lyle, she missed the doctor's next question. "What did you say?"

Dr. Tushar patiently repeated his question. "Could you be feeling guilt over that in some ways you were luckier than your brother?"

"Luckier!?" Parker sat up in surprise, trying to fathom where the hell her shrink came up with that bizarre idea. "What the hell are you on? Are you taking the drugs you've been prescribing to your patients?"

Tushar stifled his aggravation at her outrageous slander. The nerve of her. He gave her a hard look indicating that he didn't like her rhetorical put downs of him but both knew that she wasn't going to apologize for them either. Taking her silence as the closest thing to an apology he was going to get, he repeated the question. He wasn't going to give her any out of this question since it pointed straight towards the heart of her conflict with Lyle. "Did you feel guilty about the direction of your life compared to his?" The doctor hurriedly added, "Don't avoid my question, Maureen. I'll ask you again and again until you answer me or you quit coming to me."

Maureen eyes widened. Her notorious temper threatened to take her over and force her body to punch the bespectacled psychiatrist. As terribly tempting as that was, she was realistic. She needed this, however unsettling, to help get rid of her nightmares, help her remove the relics of her icy walls, and come to terms with her, as the Chinese would put it, _interesting_ life.

Restively, she took a stick a gum and popped it into her mouth. The Juicy Fruit worked its wonder on her as she chewed some of the stress away. It never would replace the alcohol and nicotine, which Jarod would never let her touch anyway, but it was good enough.

Tushar waited expectantly as he graciously allowed her to chew her gum. A few minutes silently ticked by until, at last, she spoke to him.

"I was lucky, if you call it that. When I was the Centre's Jarod-catcher, he left me with enough clues about Lyle to find out more by myself. With Broots help, of course."

"Nothing else?"

The room suddenly began to shrink and becoming claustrophobic. Maureen's stomach lurched with the confession that she was about to tell Tushar. She stopped and started chewing her gum fiercely, almost swallowing it at one point. Sucking in a deep breath of the air-conditioned air, looking directly at him, she said, "I was furious."

Dr. Tushar rubbed his lips. "Furious and angry at Lyle."

"No," she rebutted. "Finally knowing Lyle's background, I was furious for him. For the life that he was deprived of." It was a miracle for her to admit that. The overwhelming hatred she felt upon first seeing him standing next to Mr. Parker turned to sympathy for the devil. "I could have loved him but it was far too late for that. The crimes he committed were too much for me to neither forgive nor understand."

"When did you turn from hatred to sympathy?" Tushar's melodious voice soothed her jumbled nerves as she talked about her brother in ways other than the usual mixture of fear and loathing.

"The DSAs that Jarod and Broots found for me as well as what Jarod showed me months ago, about the Centre's project on Lyle." She went on, her earlier shakiness gone now that the awkwardness of finally admitting feelings other than hate, fear, and jealousy for her brother. "Reading what the Bowmans did to Bobby made me finally feel pity for him."

Tushar's heart sank. The consternation was for her. He was going to bring it up at a latter time but Jarod knocked his plan off kilter. He sternly made a note on his notebook to have a long lecture with Jarod about unintended consequences that befalls his patients when their loved ones good intentioned help just made matters worse.

"So you know about…" he started but Maureen finished for him.

"Project Caretaker?" Her eyes shone with heartbreak. "I wish I didn't. I got to give it to Lyle for managing to do something that I couldn't even do."

"What would that be?"

Maureen's voice gave away the pity that still had her in its grips. "Being part of two Centre projects: Caretaker and Triptych."

Tushar's dipped his head in acknowledgement about the latter project, which directly led her to him seeking his help. "Project Caretaker was…" he began leadingly.

Maureen picked up where he left off. "An abomination. But it doesn't surprise me as much as I wish it did." Her brown hair bobbed from the shaking of her head. "The Parkers wanted to create Sweeper 2.0 or Caretaker 1.0 from Lyle." Bafflement made her shift her body again in her chair.

"He was a Red File," Tushar pointed out obviously. "Mr. Parker and Dr. Raines wanted to turn a Red File into a unthinking enforcer by stripping him of any moral anchors, teach him to devalue human life by literally making him eat other human beings, and to take great joy from the suffering of others."

Maureen rewarded his comment by giving the Indian a sad faraway look. "Not really a Red File, doctor. His innate gift was dead on arrival when they dumped him on the Bowmans and began his long journey to hell."

The doctor took her mild correction in stride. "His potential was thwarted. Is that what you're telling me?"

The softness of her voice didn't detract from the force of her opinion. "Bobby was a failure at everything he did. He was on the wrong side of history by joining a losing team, couldn't even conspire to bring a frat house beer bash into being if his life depended on it, and Jarod always eluded him."

Maureen's harsh judgment took Tushar aback. However, this was what psychotherapy was all about. "You must have spent a lot of time thinking about this."

The grin that briefly appeared on her face was joyless. "I got nothing but time when I was in prison."

"Do you have anything else regarding Lyle's life?"

"I think Lyle was envious of me." Maureen ignored the odd quirk that Tushar used when something she said was revealing. "In his gut, I could almost swear that my life was much more normal compared to his and he resented me for it."

"You're probably correct," Tushar told her, seeing the flash of triumph in her eyes that she impressed him. He let it slide. "Seeing you with Mr. Parker and living with him throughout your childhood, he can't help but compared Mr. Parker and Mr. Bowman as fathers."

Maureen interrupted him. "Lyle was lied to just like me when it came to who our real father was, you know. It wouldn't have made a difference, really, but still having two child abusers as father figures don't make for a healthy relationship."

Hoping to continue this line of thought, he said, "No, it doesn't."

"I thought he would take Daddy, I mean Mr. Parker," pointedly ignoring the Freudian slip, "away from me. That's when I hated him without reservation."

It was interesting, Tushar commented as he inscribed some more thoughts for future sessions, which Ms. Greene went back to the start of the session and his original questioning.

Unaware that she was answering his first questions, Maureen expanded on her what she had to say. "I was afraid, not that much," she wasn't going to admit that Lyle got under her skin, even now when he was safely dead, "of him. Maybe it was Jar or my Inner Sense, but I felt that the hostility between us was a mix of natural hatred and another Centre meddling in areas where they should have butt out."

The doctor moved a bit in his chair to get some circulation going as he put out a follow up question. "The antipathy between you and your brother was stoked by the Centre?"

A Gallic shrug. Tushar admired it since he spent a year in Paris doing research there. Maureen got the shrug down pat. "Think about it. Killing off all claimants to the Parker throne." A smirk. "The Parkers made a mess of things when they got everyone, including the Triumvirate, believing me and Lyle were Parkers. The real Parker of the family would have been Kyle and Annie's baby. Not me. Certainly not Lyle." A pinch of the nose. "So the Centre got its sick kick by watching me and Lyle trying to off each other." The animosity in her heart was aimed at the Parkers and the Centre for forcing siblings to go after each other. "They made damn sure that there would be no peaceful coexistence possible between us, no understandings, no alliances between us, and no golden parachutes if we lost out at the Center."

Tushar sat up as he noticed the tears that suddenly appeared in her eyes. The swift mood change made him wary of what was going on in her mind. "Maureen, what's happening? Are you alright?"

The brunette shot him a frank look before breaking it off. "I just realize something, doctor. That's all."

"What is it?"

"I miss my brother."

* * *

**A/N: **Lyle was an interesting, if repulsive, character. You hate him but you feel sad for him because of what was done to him to make him into this monster. Jamie Denton did a fabulous job portraying this villain.

Three more chapters of Miss Parker's therapy to go after this one.

Posted on 8 April 2008.

Please read and review.

Thank you.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 32

**Raines**

Maureen responded with a cold, hard voice. A red haze dominated her vision. "He'd raped Momma for years." The urge to castrate Raines slowly with a dull razor blade as well as suffering a very painful death consumed her. The absolute unforgivable hate that filled her still had not released its cold grip on her soul.

"There must have been a lot of anger when you found out what he did to your mother," Tushar cautiously bringing this subject up for fear it might trigger a violent outburst. The same type of outburst that Jarod once was a prisoner of until a short time ago. It was also the reason he sat farther back than normal when he was conducting a session with one of his patients over something as emotional as this.

Maureen looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues. "Are you on another world or what?" she snapped wrathfully. "Of course, I'm angry at him. You don't know how much I hate him."

Maureen's body coiled as if poised to strike at William Raines before her. Her fingers were outspread looking to claw and rip that gutless son of a bitch apart. However, her mother's tormenter wasn't there and she had no outlet to express her rage and grief.

The bald headed scourge was lucky he was dead. In fact, she was hugely disappointed that she couldn't kill him and Mr. Parker personally for what they did to Momma. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to hold the bloody beating heart of Raines in her hands. She shook her head correcting herself. Raines' heart, if he ever had one would've taken a microscope to find.

"Try me," he dared her. "Tell me about him."

Eyes narrowed angrily at him, Maureen tensed up. Outside of Jarod and Timmy, no one ever knew the William Raines of Centre infamy. Now, she got a captive audience of one who was interested in her retelling of a real life horror story with a real monster lurking, not just in the closet, but also in sublevels, renewal wings, and containment areas among his various haunts.

"Creepy and kooky, altogether spooky," she disparagingly spouted the line from the old tv show. "That was William Raines." The name of her personal bogeyman left an acrid taste in her mouth. "He would look at you like a mad scientist readying to dissect you…while you're still alive."

The Indian took a moment, a pause to gauge her emotional state. He was pleased that she was reaching out for help for her decades of abuse. The multiple sessions were like a fire hose putting out the fires of her burning anger. They were also beneficial in identifying her clinical depression that was now finally being treated for.

Handling victims of rape was extremely difficult. A terrible lesson that he learned while volunteering with the international war crimes tribunal for the Balkan wars. What made it harder was the victims also had loved ones who also were grappling with the horrific crime. Reactions ranged from denial, blaming the victim, or ignoring it. That was just the tip. There were more, a lot more reactions.

Seeing Miss Parker agitated, anger vibrating through her body, was a hard reminder that he was threading a minefield. You just don't know when you might step on one. Right now, he'd just entered it and had to be extremely careful.

The tension never left her. Her stomach was in knots. Spasmodically, her hands clenched and unclenched. Maureen quietly uttered some choice words not suitable for children's ears.

Filling her lungs with some more of the conditioned air, Maureen debated to get a stick of gum or not. She was evading the real subject, her conscious scolding her. Having Jarod beside her, holding her, was something she hungered for.

But she preferred being alone when going to these sessions. She knew Jarod would have been happy to come along with her for each and every one of them but she wouldn't let him. For her dignity's sake, she wanted to face her demons alone. They were, perversely, something she could claim as unequivocally as her own. Not Jarod's, not Timmy's, not anyone's but her sad little self.

The hovering silence was finally filled with Tushar's dispassionate voice. "Did you first meet Raines when you were a young girl?"

Maureen nodded, "Yes. Momma introduced him to me as her friend." Her eyes darkened with anguish. "She trusted him."

The distress was so obvious that a blind person could see it. The psychiatrist treaded cautiously. "What was your reaction upon seeing him?"

"God, he scared the crap out of me," Parker voiced aloud her decades old revulsion of that menacing bald man who gave her the creeps and the fear that accompanied it.

"Is that all there is to it?" Tushar nudged helpfully. He knew the sordid and sickening things that Raines did to her mother. He wanted her to shout, to scream, to release the pent up anger. Not the Centre era Miss Parker who would have suppressed it, block it out, and pretend that it never happened.

Moving her gaze from the expectant brown face to his "I love me" wall and back again, gaining some breathing room in order to openly say what had madden her since Jarod told her what that bastard did to Momma.

Finally, Maureen's gaze settled on his composed eyes. "All those rapes made me wonder if he was my father." Just saying it made her want to vomit, to jump into the shower and furiously scrubbed her body of that hateful thought. The brunette's heart and stomach was wracked by the waves of pain coursing through her at hearing herself say those sordid words aloud.

"But Jarod…"

The statuesque woman's firm tone left no room for doubt. "On this one occasion, I couldn't trust Jarod's words or that of anyone else for this matter. I had to get a DNA test. I," gulping down bile, "don't know what I would do if I found out Raines was my father."

Something popped up in Tushar's mind. Leaning forward slightly, he frowned at Maureen. "Where did you get Raines' DNA? I know the government seized everything from the Centre."

Timmy's rough hewn face popped up before. A surge of love for him almost made her smile. Maureen's face started to show it but she quickly clamped it down. There were some secrets that she wasn't going to share with her shrink. Timmy was one of them.

A cool gaze flickered out of her eyes. "I have my sources." Her enigmatic reply was meant to warn Tushar that he shouldn't go barging in to an area that was off limits to him.

Tushar returned her look with a dissatisfied grimace but did take her hint. "What was the conclusion?"

Maureen brushed her hair back before replying. "He wasn't my father. Thank God." Her body relaxed perceptibly, enormously relieved at knowing that that sexual deviant didn't begat her.

"I'm happy for you," Tushar sympathetically intoned. He was vastly grateful that she wasn't Raines' spawn. If Maureen actually was his daughter, the already Herculean task of helping her would have it made extraordinarily difficult. The Indian would also have seriously thought of committing her for possible suicide watch or, at the least, preventing Maureen from physically harming herself.

Maureen grumbled, brushing off his vapid comment, "Doesn't change the fact that Raines raped my mother and got away with it." The commingling of her fury and fear left a light sheen of sweat about her body. Her body was in a fight-or-flight mode. Jar's breathing exercises wasn't working. Raines' crimes defeated every effort she made to rein in her rampaging emotions. "I still want to kill him."

The doctor decided the moment was an opportune time to bring an unpleasant fact to her. "Raines finally was brought to justice. Or, if it gives you some comfort, justice came to him."

"A little," she conceded. "But it's not enough. I wanted to do it. I wanted," voice growing more vehement, "him to see who his executioner was. I wanted him to live just long enough to see it was me and why his death was going to slow and extremely painful." Maureen's voice was buffeted by her vivid imaginings of what that monster did to Momma.

Tushar didn't spoke up at her desire for vengeance. It was too late for her to take it out on the mad doctor. This jeremiad however, did serve his purpose of draining a lot of the bile Maureen built up from hearing what happened to Catherine and for working alongside Raines.

Maureen stood up and walked directly towards him. Staring down at him, she questioned him. "How did Raines died? Jarod and Timmy never got around to telling me that."

Tushar cleared his throat before answering her. From her expectant face, folded arms, and the general tenseness of her body, it was clear she was thirsting for how Dr. Raines died. "He was charged, tried, and executed for crimes against humanity. The Israelis didn't publicize it because it because of the nature of how they were taken out of this country." Technically, the doctor wasn't supposed to reveal this embarrassing tidbit to anyone but it was never classified so he felt he could tell the tormented woman the ending of a man who caused her family untold grief.

Maureen's right eyebrow rose questioningly. "You mean the black helicopter that took them wasn't American?" She couldn't forget the memory of how Mr. Parker, Raines, and Lyle struggled, pleaded, and attempting to bribe the federal agents not to take them to the helicopter.

"It was." Shifting in his chair, he enlightened her of the circumstances surrounding the trio's final journey. "The problem was that both our government and the Israelis didn't bother with the legalities of a formal extradition request."

The brooding woman stood silently as she digested the news. Then Maureen spoke in a clipped voice, "Tough shit. We both know what those three killers did. The lawyers can go screw themselves." There was no sign of understanding, sympathy, or outrage in Maureen's eyes.

"Hmm, well," began Tushar. He decided to change subject. Settling comfortably back in his chair, the psychiatrist resumed where he left off. "Tell me any other feelings or thoughts that surfaces in your mind."

Maureen looked at her long fingers. Fingers that played the piano for Momma and that squeezed triggers on guns for Mr. Parker aka Daddy. Fingers that would at her command be feeling Raines windpipe being crushed under them.

Speaking in a slow, low harsh tone, Maureen informed Tushar, "I always felt that whenever I won an argument with him or made him back off that I didn't really won. There was always something about him that had me imagining him yelling 'Gotcha' at me." Her fingers changed to white-knuckle fists. "The baldheaded bastard was laughing behind my back, knowing that he raped Momma and still keeping a straight face whenever we were together."

The note taking stopped. Tushar looked pensively at her. "Raines is dead, Maureen. Yet, he still is hurting you. From what you've told me in the past and just now, there are no more things that Raines can do to hurt you. Just like Mr. Parker and Lyle." The Israelis permanently removed the three major malign influencers on her life. Now, it was his duty to help her confront their legacy. "Am I right?"

The strained face of Maureen showed her acceptance. "Yes, but…"

"No buts," Tushar interrupted. Jarod told you the worst that Raines did to you and your mother. You're just as much a victim as Catherine. You would waste your life trying to relive a past that you can't go back and fix. You can't save your mother, Maureen." His voice gentled. "I know you want to and I wish I had the power to send you back and stop Raines."

Tushar's caring words made Maureen cry. She continued to listen through her tears to hear what else he had to say. "What ifs and if onlys won't let you live, Maureen. All they do is to torture you, freeze you like a fly in amber, forever stuck, unmoving as the rest of the world moves on by you. Do you want that? Do you want Jarod and Timmy and everyone else who loves you to leave you behind?"

Maureen shook her vigorously, wiping away her tears. Speaking out of a roughened voice, "I can't let that happen, doctor. I already lost too many years with Jarod. I don't want to lose anymore time with him or Timmy."

The small smile on Tushar's face was meant to reassure her. Somehow, it did its job. "Raines is a problem but together, with more sessions like this, we can send that son of a bitch back to hell where he belongs. You up to it, Maureen?"

"I am."

* * *

**A/N:** Raines is one mad doctor. Great acting on the part of Richard Marcus. Watching him commit all those evil things makes you wonder how he turned out that way.

Two more therapy chapters to go.

Posted 14 April 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 33

**Faith**

"I wanted her to live. Not just for her sake but for my own." It was a selfish admission but Maureen refused to delude herself. She had decades of that and all it got her was a prison sentence, a ruined life, and her man married to another woman.

She stopped to take in a deep breath before plunging on, "I hated being alone when both Momma and Mr. Parker were out and I was left all alone at the mansion with just a baby sitter." Giving her therapist an imploring look, "I was thrilled to have a girl friend. Do you know what that means?"

Tushar nodded understandingly. "You were a lonely girl who didn't have many friends. Aside from Jarod and Timmy, didn't you made any other friends? At school? On play dates? Events that allowed you to interact with other children?"

Maureen bit her lips in consternation. His questions opened up something she suppressed for a lifetime. Speaking softly in a hurt tone, "I was kept away from other children until boarding school. A fish out of water when I showed up there. I was home schooled by Momma and private tutors." She played with her stick of gum. "I never had an opportunity to play with other children. Not with the sweepers _protecting_," she made quote marks in the air with her fingers, "me from strangers." A bitter guffaw. "My skinny ass they were. Those faceless gangbangers were protecting the Centre's precious investment. Me."

Dr. Tushar could only shake his head at her description of her forlorn childhood. First, Jarod. Now, Miss Parker. She was going to take years of treatment by him, just like what he was doing right now with Jarod. A worried frown creased his brows as he thought that he might be treating them up to the time when he decided to retire. _God, I hope not,_ he prayed zealously, shuddering at the thought of his two most temperamental of patients sticking to him like Velcro for the rest of his professional life.

"Timmy and Jarod were the only ones that I played with, get to be a kid." She clasped her hands tightly. "Momma took me to Church and the activities afterwards on Sundays but that stopped when she died. Even at those activities, the other children were intimidated by the sweepers. I never even went to Sunday school because Mr. Parker wouldn't let Momma enrolled me. He said," voice full of derision, "he wanted more time with me. He played the guilt button with Momma and she always caved in when he pressed it."

Her last statement troubled him. "Did she realize that he didn't spend the time, like he said he would, with you?"

"Momma made excuses for him. It was always to the effect that he was a busy man doing important things." Her smile was censuring, towards herself and her mother. "I guess I learned where I picked up my self-delusions."

"On the other hand, Maureen," he countered, determined to tell her that this was the problem in an abusive relationship. "Maybe it's not self-delusions. In an abusive relationship, the victim hopes that the sheer force of her love, your Mother's in this case, would reform Mr. Parker by making him open his eyes to what he was doing to you and your mother." Tushar didn't miss the flinch that her body gave off with this standard diagnosis of an abusive relationship. "From your reaction, Maureen, it seemed that was the case with Catherine. Was it the same with you?"

Tushar was right. Her face contorted in self-rebuke, "Damn, I was too stupid to think I could change Mr. Parker. I tried. God knows how I tried." She crushed the stick of gum in her hands as the disappointment of a young girl futilely waiting in the evenings for her father to walk through the front door to be greeted by her, the dinners with just her and Momma while the chair set aside for Mr. Parker empty, the outings to the zoo that he promised to take her on but failed to follow through, the list went on and on.

"That's why I wanted Faith to be my friend, my best girlfriend," she continued, filling the silent space that her doctor gave her. "I figure after she was cured, Faith would still be there at the Centre." Her head raised slightly, just enough to peer at him with pain-filled eyes. "I could take her home and we can play dress up, have our tea parties, things that little girls were supposed to do."

"Was she the first girl you saw in your life?" He wondered if Maureen was involved in yet another bizarre Centre experiment.

Denial firmly in her eyes and mouth, "No. I saw many girls at Church and other places where Momma took me, but Faith was the first girl I ever saw at the Centre. Every other female there were grown up."

Tushar nodded along with her answer. His theory didn't hold water after hearing her reasoning. He sighed discontentedly. "Earlier, you told me that you were thrilled that Faith could be a girl friend of yours, to balance out Jarod and Timmy?"

She nodded shakily. "Right. There were things that I wanted to share with another girl. Secrets that I didn't want any boys to know." A downturned half-smile etched her mouth. "Secrets like that I had a big crush on Jarod."

"I can see why you need a girl friend for something like that," he replied in understanding. Looking down at her, lying on the sofa, in the stereotypical position of a psychiatric session, he requested of her, "Do you have a picture of Faith on you?"

The gum was crushed under the sudden pressure of her right hand. Another thing the Centre took away from her. "No," she answered in a teeth-grinding manner, "the Parkers made sure all traces of Faith were erased, deleted, and destroyed from the Centre. Except for those goddamn DSAs."

Dr. Tushar penned her response in his ever present notebook. She noticed that he was writing longer than the usual entry and he was way too quiet for her comfort. Propping herself up on her elbows, she spoke to him in a slightly raised voice. "Something I should know, doctor?"

"No, not right now." Raising one eyebrow at her, he added, "Perhaps later."

Her contrarian nature kicked in. Swinging her feet onto the floor, Maureen affixed him with a hard look. "I don't like waiting, doctor. I like to know whatever it is that you're writing about me." A heartbeat. "Now."

Tushar matched stare with stare. He didn't back down in this contest of wills. "I'm your shrink," deciding to use the colloquialism rather than what he preferred, "and I will decide when is the best time I share my observations with you."

Maureen went ballistic upon hearing that. "How dare you say that! This is _my_ life that we're discussing about. The only fucking reason I'm here. I sure as hell am not here because I like you, doctor!" She stood up, upset that another person was telling her what was best for her. She made it clear that she didn't like it one damn bit. "You're just the latest asshole who's telling me it's best that I don't know anything! Bullshit, it's for my own good! Well, I'm goddamn sick of it! I want to know what you've wrote about it me right now. I've went along with everything you asked of me, doctor. Now, it's your turn."

"Sit down," Tushar ordered, not the least bit intimidated by her anger. He did registered something that Maureen didn't reveal until now on how thin-skinned she was to people telling her what was best for her. He deliberately broke eye contact to write that choice nugget of data into his notebook.

Suddenly, the notebook was ripped out of his hands. He shot out of his chair trying to retrieve only to find his face making contact with the carpeted floor. Tushar felt something pressing hard on his back. It felt like either a knee or a foot. Then he heard Maureen's voice, with only a faint trace of apology in it, "I'm sorry it had to come down to this, doctor. I really didn't want to but I don't like secrets. Even yours where it concerns me." He felt the pressure lighten up slightly. Overhead, he heard a loud sigh. "I'll just read what you wrote about me now. I promise I won't read anything else."

There was quiet now. The psychiatrist can easily imagine the reaction on her face as she read the notation about Faith, Maureen, and the Centre. After imagining that, anger and outrage dominated him. _How dare she treat him like a common criminal!_ His hands curled into fists. "Let me up immediately, Miss Greene. Or there will be severe repercussions."

Maureen didn't respond but Tushar did felt the pressure disappear. Carefully, he slowly raised himself from the floor. The psychiatrist surveyed the immediate surroundings long enough to see that Miss Parker was sitting still as a statue with a lost look on her careworn face.

Tushar brushed his hair back into place, smoothed down his business suit, and adjusted his tie. Clearing his throat, he addressed her. "I should call security and have you locked up for that stunt, Miss Greene. Will you provide another reason for me to call them?"

Maureen stirred slowly until she leveled her eyes on him. Her blue-gray eyes, which a moment ago was ablaze with fury was now a dull washed out color. "It won't happen again." She craved some gum now but the stick that she crushed in her hand earlier was nowhere to be found after snatching the notebook from Tushar.

"You better," he warned ominously. "I would hate to see you in Ft. Leavenworth breaking big rocks into little rocks." That was a bluff but it always seemed to get the message across to his most temperamental patients. Like Maureen.

"I said it won't happen again." Maureen's voice was lifeless.

Tushar grunted, out of annoyance and concern. Damn her impetuousness. Now, he had to fix a problem that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Picking up the notebook from the floor where she dropped it, the doctor sat down heavily. He glanced over at Maureen carefully. She looked like she was hit by a truck by the slack jaw set of her face. He lost count of how many times he'd seen this expression on her face. He just wished or prayed that today was the last time he would see it. However, in his heart, he knew that it was not to be.

Gathering his thoughts, he carefully chose his words just like in previous sessions. "Well, Maureen, now you know why I didn't want to discuss that particular observation with you today." Seeing her saying nothing or doing anything, he cautiously proceeded. "Now that you did, please tell me if I'm right or correct me if I'm wrong."

Maureen rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if warding off a chill. She mentally tongue-lashed herself for giving in to her anxiety and dread of the unknown. However, she did and using her Centre training planted Dr. Tushar's body forcibly onto the floor.

Now, she wished she could take back that moment as well as reading that entry. The entry that sucker punched her in the gut. Or, at least, it felt like it. A puzzled look showed on her face. "Aren't you going to demand an apology from me?"

"Would it change anything?" he snapped out, involuntarily releasing his anger at the way she manhandled him.

"I am sorry, doctor," choosing not to acknowledge the sting of his words. "I wish I didn't lose the control the way that I did."

Tushar snorted, still angry and his carefully chosen words forgotten. "Apology accepted. Now, let's go over what I wrote. Since you started this, Maureen," anger still evident in his voice, "I still want to know what your answer is to my question. Or," creasing his forehead in an overly dramatized fashion, "do you want me to put it off the questioning until the future. Like I wanted to originally."

Maureen couldn't meet his eyes, which she can imagine were accusing. "I'll answer your question," she replied in a deceptively mild voice.

"Let's hear it." Tushar said it in a much milder tone. He had to remind himself to take into account her fragile emotional state.

Long suppressed memories, real nightmarish ones, not the fanciful fantasies she dreamed up for her, Momma, and the cocksucker. The memories of screaming matches, doors being slammed, the charged atmosphere at the dining table, Momma wearing long sleeve shirts on a hot summer day, and her excessive use of makeup.

Her peering down from the second floor as Momma or Mr. Parker would leave late at night, the comings and goings that mystified her as a child now fully understood as an adult.

Whirling her head, she said in a cracked and stuttering voice, "I needed Faith to help me deal with the fights that Momma and Parker got into, they didn't seem to care that I could hear them when they went at each other. I pretended," she hated that word, "that we were the perfect family. Nothing was wrong with us."

"But there was and Faith…" Tushar started. He paused as he saw Maureen's braced her back, waiting for whatever he was about to say. "Faith was going to be your security blanket."

The quirk of a smile slid away as Maureen took in the doctor's interpretation of her need for Faith. "I never really planned on calling her my security blanket but, yeah, that was the general idea. Remember, doctor, Mr. Parker kept the fact that she was adopted sister away from me."

Dr. Tushar grunted in acknowledgement at that tidbit. He was uncomfortable at bringing up something relevant to this line of discourse but Maureen needed to accept what he had figure out from his other patients. "It wouldn't have worked the way you envisioned it, Maureen." He clarified as she leveled her gaze on him. "Rather than your security blanket, Faith would have been just another victim of the dysfunctional environment that you were living in. I'm sorry but I've treated my share of abused children and in these cases, Maureen, misery doesn't love company."

A snort. Then one convulsive shake of her body. "I didn't want her to suffer along like me. I couldn't have Jarod beside me all the time so Faith was the next best thing."

"You didn't intentionally want to put her in an abusive environment. Remember, Maureen, as I said to you before in our other previous sessions, we've got the experience of adulthood looking back at our childhood selves and see that what we thought were the right choices back then were not." This was his constant refrain to her because from what he'd been through with her, Tushar understood that she still had a hard time forgiving herself.

"Intentional or not, Doctor, I was eager to bring Faith into that situation."

Deciding that they covered this sore spot for now, Tushar subtly nudged Maureen to the next thing he wanted to analyze. "That decision was taken out of your hands by the cancer that took her away from you and your friends."

Analyzing her relationship with Faith made her weary and giving in to temptation, Maureen chose to lie back down on the sofa. Somehow, lying down replicated the only position that she ever saw Faith in.

"The cancer that I, we," she qualified, "thought the Centre was going to rid from her body." Catching his brown eyes with her suddenly unforgiving ones, she forged on, "The fuckers didn't gave a damn about her."

"They didn't," he responded in agreement. "However, you, Jarod, and Timmy cared deeply about her. It's remarkable that all of you developed such an emotional attachment to Faith so quickly. She wasn't in you and the other's lives very long, was she?"

Maureen looked up at the ceiling. It matched the overall décor of the room. Painted dark brown, it was a smooth surface, leaving her without any acoustic tiles with holes to count as a distraction. Without that distraction, she had to answer his question much quicker than she hoped for. "Not long enough."

Tushar heard the pain and the longing in Maureen's voice. He just jotted that observation on his notebook.

Maureen ignored the noise of Tushar's writing. There was not enough time in the world for Faith. A cruel injustice to visit upon an innocent girl. An injustice furthered by the deceitful crime that the Centre inflicted on her by giving her false hopes of surviving and living into adulthood.

Her dark thoughts were shattered by Tushar's unexpected question. "How would you react to the Centre's attempts to erase Faith from the face of the Earth? To make her a nonperson?"

"I would have fought them every step of the way. I would never let the memory of Faith be erased." The anger that Tushar brought to life caused her to sit up and grabbed one of the pillows lying at the end of the sofa. Lying back down again, she convulsively squeezed it like an oversized stress ball. "As long as I live, Jarod and Timmy live, Faith will always be remembered and be loved," she vowed, a tear streaking down her high boned cheek.

"Did you bring it?" once again, Tushar was changing his line of inquiry.

"Yes." Maureen took it out of one of her jean's pockets and held tightly to it.

"Please hold it up so I can see it," the doctor politely requested.

The rosary, worn and darkened by age, given to Faith by a young and innocent girl who still believed in a God and the power of prayer and faith, hung between the two contemplative people.

Resting his head on the backrest of his chair, Tushar spoke aloud, breaking the moment that hung between them. "Let's recap this. From our last session, you told me Jarod found this rosary while he was still on the run from you and returned it to you."

Maureen explained to him, "He wanted me to remember Faith." Her voice turned teary. "I buried her figuratively for so long that I forgot about her. Until Jarod reminded me with this." She let the rosary dangle from her fingers.

Putting his notebook down, assured that his voice recorder was taking everything they said down, Tushar bent forward. "It's important to you," indicating the dangling rosary, "what was so important about it that you would go to such extreme lengths to get it back?"

Maureen twisted her head, one hand clutching the pillow, the other holding the rosary, answered him. "This was the last physical link between Faith and me. Us," making sure to include Jar and Timmy. "This was the last thing she held onto when she died. Something I gave her, doctor. Someone who needed it more than I did." Her voice trailed off as tears leaked out of her eyes and she turned away from him. Her body curled into a fetal position as the loss of Faith pounded her again.

Tushar placed his head in his hands and then rubbed his eyes tiredly. Childhood trauma was a hard thing to treat. Decades after the incident or incidents, the wounds were so buried that exhuming them usually made things worse before they got better.

Maureen's childhood had so many traumas and blows to her system that he seriously considered medicating her. Her adulthood wasn't sunny and clear either. Running a hand through his black hair, Tushar already had some anti-depressants and anxiolytic medications in mind for her if it was required.

Tushar slouched back in his chair, closing his eyes as a migraine threatened him. The only thing he heard was Maureen's soft sobbing. He decided to let her grief run its course before closing this session.

Eventually, her sobbing stopped. He opened his eyes, though the band of pain wrapping around his head tightened its grip on him. He ignored it as he proceeded with the session.

"We're coming to the end," Tushar informed her. He saw her nod unevenly, her brown hair bouncing fitfully. "What were Faith's last words to you?"

"I will always watch over you." The words caused more tears to fall down her face. Maureen's heart felt leaden unable to beat upon uttering those words. God, it hurts so much.

A remarkable child, thought Tushar, amazed at how a girl on the brink of death was thinking of others. Delicately, he asked, "Do you think she did, Maureen?"

"Yes," recalling the moment when she flat lined in that hospital from her bleeding ulcer and there was Faith telling her that it wasn't her time yet. Something only Jarod knew and that Dr. Tushar will never know. "I can feel her with me when I hit rock bottom."

_Delusional?_ He wrote that word in his notebook but then crossed it out after changing his mind. Maureen was too rational even with her emotional and mental wounds to fall into an imaginary world of her own creation.

"Do you feel her now?" Tushar graced her with a curious gleam in his eyes.

Certainty in her voice, the evidence of her earlier grief stained face gone, she answered him, "She's always with me. Just as she promised me all those years ago."

* * *

**A/N:** One more therapy chapter to go. The next one is different from the previous chapters and much shorter.

Watching the episode with Faith resulted in my thinking that MP really did want her as a security blanket as well as a sister/companion.

Posted on 20 April 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 34

Psychiatric Evaluation Record

**DICTATED REPORT **

**Patient:** Parker, Maureen NMN (aka Greene, Maureen NMN)

**Diagnosis**

Post-traumatic stress disorder

Separation Anxiety Disorder

Clinical depression

**Medications:** None at this time.

**Physical Exam:** Maureen Parker aka Maureen Greene is a 38-year-old woman in good physical condition.

**Prior Medical History:** She has been successfully treated for ulcers caused by H. Pylori bacterial infection using the prescribed antibiotic treatment regimen and changes to her lifestyle i.e. no smoking, no drinking, stress reduction. No reoccurrence at this time. Ex-smoker. No relapse at this time. I have recommended that she get a primary care physician so she can be monitored for symptoms of lung cancer. Former alcoholic binge drinker. No relapse at this time. I have recommended she be monitored for liver cancer and be examined for cirrhosis of the liver by a primary care physician. Ms. Parker was shot in the back and underwent surgery to repair the injury. No lingering effects were noticeable. As a teenager, Ms. Parker consumed illegal narcotics: marijuana, cocaine. No addictions at this time.

**Subjective:** From the sessions that the patient has attended so far, I have ascertained that she has the three mental disorders listed above. I have discussed with her that she still has these disorders and will need to continue her therapy sessions in order to be successfully treated. I have informed the patient that no medications will be prescribed at this time but, if any of her disorders worsens, than antidepressants and other psychotropic medications will be considered. Currently, I am treating the patient using psychotherapy. This treatment, after initial resistance by the patient, appears to be working. My current concern is her second mental disorder (Separation Anxiety Disorder). The patient has experienced traumatic losses of her loved ones in the past due to violence and disease: her mother, her boyfriend, her sister, et al. These losses have heightened her already overdeveloped sense of anxiety of losing other love ones. Her deep emotional attachments to her current object of desire has led me to be worried that if he were to be hurt or killed, which is probable due to his occupation, she may respond in a despondent and/or suicidal manner. I have requested to his employer that if and when a casualty assistance team is sent to inform my patient of his death or injury in the line of duty that I be included. Immediate attention and treatment is paramount in this hypothetical situation. My plan of treatment for her separation anxiety disorder is to use cognitive-behavioral psychotherapy. Ms. Parker is in the midst of forging a new life for herself free from the previous turbulent and tumultuous existence that she has experienced at the Centre. She is no stranger to violence having been shot in the back and threatened numerous times with physical violence that included rape, cannibalism, false imprisonment, extrajudicial execution, and illegal medical experiments. The patient also has a magnified sense of paranoia resulting from being under constant surveillance by the Centre since childhood. Furthermore, Ms. Parker has developed a strong distrust of almost anyone she has in personal encounters resulting from numerous deceptions, falsehoods, and secrets inflicted by the Centre on her. As a result, Ms. Parker is always looking for nonexistent ulterior motives and betrayals from people around her. My concern is whether she is capable of functioning with other persons in various types of social settings and gatherings. The abnormal environment that she grew up in as a child and well into adulthood, coupled with the deaths of her love ones, have resulted in the three mental disorders currently afflicting her. She has displayed the traditional symptoms of chronic depression: irritability, lack of an appetite, insomnia, recurring headaches, etc. I am carefully guiding her to express her feelings over the loss of her love ones. When successful, the next step will be to seek closure in regards to deceased loved ones. My treatment for her post-traumatic stress disorder will include one-on-one sessions and group sessions. Ms. Parker will be treated for a very prolong period resulting from the decades of abuse that she has endured. I have no illusions that her case will be easily or quickly be treated. Her medical history included a prolonged period when she consumed excessive amounts of alcohol (aka binge drinking) though not afflicted with alcoholism and addiction to cigarette smoking. She no longer smokes or consumes alcohol.

**Security Clearance Evaluation (Medical):** It is my medical opinion that the patient does not pose a clear and present danger to the security of the United States. She has no emotional or mental disorders, aside from the three listed above, that makes her vulnerable or susceptible to hostile foreign or domestic agents of influence.

**Summary:** Ms. Parker currently suffers from three mental disorders that are being treated by psychotherapy. Her mental and emotional status does not pose a security risk to the United States.

**Note:** Redacted synopses of my therapy sessions have been forwarded to the office of the Director of National Intelligence for inclusion in Ms. Parker's file. Doctor/patient confidentiality remains intact while meeting the requirements of national security laws. I have recommended that the security classification for the synopses be SECRET (NOFORN).

/s/

Balaji Tushar, MD

Treating Psychiatrist

* * *

**A/N:** This completes the Miss Parker therapy arc of my story. One of the things I like about alternate universes is that I get to play around with people's ages. For this story, I have Jarod escaping the Centre and MP chasing him much earlier than canon. Their ages have been a nit that I wanted to pick since the series. I mean, c'mon, Jarod being ignorant of what the Centre was using his sims for until his mid-30s? That's stretching my suspension of disbelief. Particularly, since Jarod is a super-genius.

The next posting will be sometime in late summer. I'm hoping for an Aug or Sep 08 posting. I may post earlier depending on my muse and real life. But my muse and I will be quite busy in the summer since we'll be on vacation so don't get your hopes too high!

I've already written 24 pages so far for the next chapters. It'll be a very long chapter as per my m.o or madness. Whichever, you prefer. LOL!

Please be patient and I appreciate all of you who've stuck with my story and me.

Thank you to those who've reviewed the story so far.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 35

The dirt slowly poured through his hands. Jarod watched dispassionately as the wind picked it up and blew it away from him. Dirt from an ancient and blood soaked land.

Alexander the Great marched through here on his way to India after conquering the known world. The British and the Russians played their "Great Game" here. Winston Churchill went to war here and lived to write about it. The Evil Empire began its inevitable journey to the dustbin of history here. Once a destination for '60s era hippies, now it was a battlefront in the twenty-first century war on terrorism. This time it was the Americans turn to fight in Afghanistan.

Letting the rest of the dirt dribbled through his work roughened hands, Jarod leaned back awkwardly against his rucksack. He pulled back the fabric tab covering the face of his watch. It was about an hour away from sunrise. Shifting into a more comfortable position on the ground, the Pretender took off his Kevlar helmet. Like some grunts, he had a bandana wrapped around his head in a mostly successful attempt at avoiding the "Kevlar itch". He patted down to make sure it didn't slide off his head. It was in the midst of doing this that he felt his boots getting tapped none too gently.

"Hey, asshole, that's a safety violation." The voice was low and menacing.

Jarod looked up to see a hulking figure leaning over him. He took a moment to take in this figure before he responded. "What are you going to do about it, douchebag?" emphasizing his question with his middle finger.

The heavily armed man stared down at Jarod for a moment before shrugging, "Nothing." Copying Jarod, he sat down next to him, shrugged off his rucksack before leaning back on it. Spitting a stream of tobacco juice into a spit cup, Jarod's teammate took off his own helmet. "Damn dome of obedience," rubbing his shaved head.

Jarod's grin could barely be discerned in the lightening gloom. "If it weren't for that dome of obedience," indicating the helmet lying on the ground, "haji would put a bullet between that empty space between your ears."

Frank Tauau, a bulky six foot, two forty pound American Samoan, grunted noncommittally. He could have been a football player in the NFL or a professional wrestler but, like Jarod, he chose to serve his country for a decent salary and an even more modest pension that will never begin to cover all the sacrifices he made for his country.

The two men quietly watched as the Rangers who were to accompany them on their mission began to assemble into formations for the incoming helicopters that were to take them to their area of operations.

"ETA?" asked the Samoan quietly.

Taking a quick glimpse at his watch, Jarod answered, "Eighteen mikes." Eighteen minutes. Adjusting his Mk-17 SCAR rifle with the attached grenade launcher to a more comfortable position, Jarod waited for the other two men of his team to show up.

Just as he was thinking about them, the other two silently showed up. The first was a slim, wiry Laotian named Larry Phomkai. A first generation American, Larry joked he was carrying on the family tradition. His father and five uncles all fought the North Vietnamese in Laos as part of the secret CIA army during the Vietnam War. Joining the CIA right out of college, he went to work for it's covert side, the National Clandestine Service. With legislation authorizing the creation of the Office of Director of National Intelligence, it came as no surprise to anyone that knew him that he jumped at the chance to join a brand new agency, enjoying the freedom of action that came with a brand new agency, and a chance to be a part of history.

The other was Rich Bagalan, a Generation X Filipino-American, who was kicked out of his parent's house by them in the hopes of growing up, going to college, and stop being a slacker. To their horror, instead of going to college, he joined the Army as a paratrooper. After a tour with the famous 82d Airborne Division he worked his way up the U.S. Army's special operations ladder. First a Ranger then becoming a Special Forces soldier better known to the world as Green Berets. Eventually, after service with the Defense Intelligence Agency, he wound up with DNI. When asked about his parents' reaction to his chosen career, he would give a tight cold smile, "I grew up just like they wanted me to."

A quirk of Jarod's team was that they were all from California. Upon hearing that the ex-Pretender was born in Michigan, Phomkai speaking for all of them, said, "You poor bastard."

Another quirk that the DNI mission planners created was that Jarod's teammates were all Asian/Pacific Islanders. In a running team joke, they declared that Jarod would be the first of them to file a complaint with the equal opportunity officer.

Seeing both Jarod and Tauau propped up against their rucksacks, the two new arrivals eagerly aped them and sat down enjoying the last few remnants of free time before the mission began.

The Pretender's critical eye looked over them carefully taking note of any discrepancies with their attitude and equipment. To his professional satisfaction, they were what they exactly were: some of America's best covert operators.

Looking off into the distance for a moment, Jarod unconsciously patted the left cargo pocket of his ACU pants. Reaching in, he pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag. It contained pictures of his families and friends. Mom, Dad, Rachel…. Opening it, he took out the most recent addition. Maureen.

Looking at her smiling face, tracing it with his right forefinger, Jarod breathed out an unsettled sigh. He was glad that he was on this six to nine month long tour, depending on the needs of his employer. Right here in this war-torn place, he was going to make the decision of what Maureen meant to him and where she fit in his life. It was unfair to keep stringing her along like he was doing now.

Always, always there was Rachel hovering over him. Running his left composite forefinger across the top of his lip, Jarod knew whatever decision he made regarding Maureen will permanently affect his love and devotion for his late wife. _What to do?_

Tauau glanced over at Jarod. Seeing the picture in his team leader's hand, the Samoan leaned over to glimpse what the picture was about. "Who is she, Russell?" holding his hand out.

Each time that Jarod and Frank were assigned to teams, one of the rituals they observed were to share pictures of their friends and family. It didn't matter that they already saw the same pictures before or that they were brand new, it was a solemn reminder that if one of them were killed, the other would tell the other's friends and family what happened, albeit sanitized for the grieving folks, as well as to tell them how he lived in a environment which they didn't know anything about.

Jarod felt a wave of resentment go through him upon hearing his second-in-command's request. He didn't want to share Maureen, even a picture of her, with anyone else. But, begrudgingly, he handed over the picture to the hulking Samoan.

Hearing Tauau's question, the other raised their heads, curiosity piqued. Tauau passed the picture over to the other two men after taking a long look at Maureen. An expectant look stayed in Frank's eyes waiting for his leader's answer. Jarod slowly answered, "Her name's Maureen. She's an old friend of mine."

Upon seeing the picture and hearing Jarod's reply to Tauau's question, Bagalan opined appreciatively, "Yeah, I wish I was an old _friend_ of her any day, anyhow." His body stilled as he realized his mistake. The Filipino's brain caught up to what his mouth uttered. "Um, sorry, man. You know how I run my mouth off."

The other two men of Jarod's team winced at the unthinking remark Bagalan voiced out loud. Frank felt his sympathy appear again inside him. All three knew about the loss of his wife.

Jarod's loss reminded Frank starkly how he lost his wives. Not permanently like Jarod's. No, his were just a couple of divorces and shared custody of his two sons. One each from his ex-wives. They didn't understand why he couldn't talk about his job and resented the long absences when they had to be both mother and father to his children.

The former Pretender bit back a hot retort at his machine gunner. Bagalan already apologized for his insensitive comment but he clearly understood that Maureen was very easy on the eyes. "No harm done," holding out his left hand for the picture. Phomkai, the radio-telephone operator, silently handed it back.

All four men looked up into the slowly brightening sky as the sounds of helicopter rotors could be heard.

It was the signal for Jarod's team to get up and head over to their assembly point. Jarod and Tauau, being the oldest of the team, grunted quietly as they put on their almost one hundred twenty pound rucksacks. Bagalan and Phomkai, conversely, made a show of putting on their rucks with complaints of how heavy they were.

The approaching helicopters could now be picked out as black specks that slowly grew larger as they approached the pickup zone. Jarod saw that they were MH-47 Chinooks. Flown by the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment aka the Night Stalkers, they were used for this mission because of the number of men involved, the distance, and the need for secrecy.

While Jarod automatically scanned his team one more time for any deficiencies, he went over the mission again.

Two Taliban high value targets (HVTs) were crossing the border from Pakistan into Afghanistan. Intelligence pinpointed the route the two were taking which was where Jarod and his team were headed. DNI believed that the two might have information on the highest value target of them all. It was why Jarod and his team became involved in this mission. He and his team were to take them alive. The Ranger company came along with them to kill the security detachment assigned to protect the HVTs.

In a whirlwind of flying sand and dirt, the Chinooks landed. Everyone scrambled on board their assigned helicopter. Jarod stood on the bottom of the lowered rear ramp of his MH-47 physically tapping each member of his team to ensure he didn't leave any one behind.

Satisfied that his three men were accounted for and aboard, Jarod turned to the helicopter crew chief and gave a thumb's up. The Pretender sat on one of the plastic bench running the length of the helicopter as the aircraft rapidly took off.

No one spoke. Each man was off in a world of their own. For Jarod, putting on his ballistic spectacles and combat gloves, it was two thoughts. Maureen and his job.

As he looked out through the rear entrance with the ramp still lowered down even after taking off, seeing the Sun's first rays striking the mountains, Jarod already decided upon something definite. This was his last field mission.

The other thought preoccupying Jarod's mind was his friend than nemesis than friend again. Maureen Greene formerly Miss Parker. Her eyes, her smile, her mind but, most of all, swallowing hard, her feelings left him warm all over. But was it enough to risk everything in him for her?

With no answer forthcoming, Jarod turned away from the receding scenery and looked down at his rifle. He pulled back the charging handle and locked and loaded a round into the rifle's chamber. Safing it, he blanked his mind as he prepared himself for battle.

But it wasn't totally blank.

Her smiling face was still there with that _look_ in her eyes.

Jarod sighed. It was going to be a long flight.

* * *

**A/N:** I didn't plan on posting this chapter until I was totally complete with the rest of the story. But thanks to Bill Gates and Microsoft, I lost all of the chapters that I finished writing, waiting to be edited and posted later on in the fall or winter.

You can imagine the horror as well as the frustration of having to start over from scratch.

My muse isn't happy and I'm throwing out my self-imposed deadline of finishing this story by the end of the year. Now, I don't know when I'll finish it.

Oh, well. I'll let you know when I know it, too.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners

Chapter 36

He was flying. Flying as high as he could until the pull of gravity showed who was boss. Timmy could feel himself arcing back down before he felt the two slender hands on his back pushed again.

Laughing delightedly, he soar through the sky again, this time joined by the laughter of his old friend.

Maureen smiled as Timmy reached the end of the swing before coming back down again.

She braced herself as she prepared herself to push him again. _There_. Giving a hard shove, the brunette watched her stocky friend move away from her. "Still having fun?" she queried, instinctively knowing what his answer would be.

"Yes," Timmy shouted out.

"Good," giggled out Maureen. A small shake of her head. When was the last time she ever giggle?

This trip down to the beach was her idea. The seed of it though was laid by Jarod. The sessions with Dr. Tushar were, hating to admit it, thoroughly cathartic. The ex-Miss Parker was still seeing him every other week to help her deal with the traumas that comprised her life. It was at one of the sessions concerning her relationship with Jarod that she was reminded of the first time that she took Jar out of his damn cell and up onto the roof to see snow for the first time.

It jolted her when, with sudden clarity that she never did the same for her other best friend. A twinge of guilt for always putting Jarod first before anyone else, she pushed it away. While impatiently going through the, to her, slow as molasses session, parts of her were already planning on a special occasion for just Timmy and her. Her only other friend belatedly deserved it.

A day at the beach. At first, she thought about a trip to the local park. The very same park where she and Tushar had some of their Timmy sessions.

The sessions on Timmy made her look long and hard at the feelings she have towards her recently reconnected friend. She didn't want to admit that she pitied Timmy but Tushar held up the unblinking light of truth to her and made her see that was the heart of their relationship. Maureen saw him as a miserable creature that needed some pats on the head and some treats for him in order for him to be happy.

Just that. Nothing else. Not as a grown up man. A man who fought the Centre long and hard before she decided to join in the fun. A friend who waited patiently for her to come back from exile, literally and figuratively. And, when she finally did come home, welcomed her warmly with open arms and bearing no malice towards her.

Maureen nixed the idea of the park. It brought up some uncomfortable insights that troubled her revived conscience. Rather, she chose the beach.

A beach trip was something new for both of them. The brunette briefly remembered that day at the ruins of the Centre where she wistfully dreamt of walking hand in hand with Jarod.

That, she promised herself, will be for another day. A wave of anxiety rolled through her. Her man was somewhere dangerous and there was nothing she can do. This helpless feeling of not being able to help her oldest friend or protect him left her… She bit her lip. This was all new to her and she didn't how to react, to respond in a way that can soothe the fears she barely kept in check.

"He'll be alright, you know."

With her thoughts fixated on the former Pretender, Maureen didn't notice that Timmy had stopped swinging and was turned around on the seat looking up at her with his clear blue eyes. Eyes that demonstrated his concern and understanding over her plight.

"How can you be so certain?" demanded Maureen. She was slightly unnerved at how Timmy can uncannily read her mind. The taller woman studied the stocky man and wondered what kinds of gifts or curses, depending on one interpret it, the bald headed murderer gave him when he cooked the former Red File's brain. She made a mental note to talk to Jar about investigating Timmy's gifts, if their friend consented to it.

Timmy reached out and took both of her hands in his. Somberly, he explained, "I don't. But Jarod's a survivor. He survived so much since he was a child that getting hurt or worse," careful not to speak out what both knew was a real possibility, "wherever he is is inconceivable."

Lightly squeezing his work roughened hands before pulling them away, she told him, "I pray that you're right." Crossing her arms to ward off a shiver of dread, she continued, "I don't know how Rachel can do this day after day not knowing where Jar is or if he's even," breath hitching, "alive."

"It was never easy for her. Or for me." Timmy stood up from the swing seat and stepped up to her. Wrapping his arms around her thin frame in a comforting gesture, he went on. "From her connections in the Bureau she knew the conditions that Jarod was working under. She had to hide her fears from Jarod so he won't be distracted or lose his focus in whatever location he was operating out of. And I was there to give her moral support."

Maureen uncrossed her arms and stepped into his embrace. To anyone walking by he or she would think it was a couple being affectionate towards each other not two trying to worry about a man both love in their own way who was in harms way.

Breaking apart from each other, Maureen leaned over and gave Timmy a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for taking care of me." Grabbing his left hand with her right, she guided them away from the playground towards her parked Porsche. It was time to grab the picnic basket and have a late lunch on the beach.

She put a lot of effort into the picnic. Maureen wanted to surprise Timmy and Jar with her culinary skills. The lost years that she slaved for the Centre didn't gave her neither the time nor the inclination to be a mediocre much less an excellent cook. The persona of Miss Parker also wouldn't allow her the excuse to cook not if she was going to make it in a man's world.

It wasn't until being designated a prison trustee for good behavior and assigned to her prison's kitchen staff did she really take to learning the finer culinary arts. It wasn't easy since it was a prison and she had to cook on an industrial scale due to the prison population. But learned she did since she was a Type A personality. Maureen methodically studied the recipes, learned by trial and error, pretty soon she was making some mouth watering items for the prison menus.

It was this experience that she was going to show to Timmy. If he liked it, then she was going full bore for a homecoming meal that Jar wasn't going to forget for a very long time.

Finding a semi secluded piece of beach, both former Red Files laid out the floral printed picnic blanket and placed the large picnic basket at one corner. After shooing Timmy away from the basket and borderline ordering to sit down and stay out of the way, she took out the special gourmet meal she made just for this occasion.

Lightly smoked salmon for the main course. It was accompanied by double French cream brie served with baguette, apples, and grapes. Next, was an antipasto salad. And, lastly for dessert, she made two creations: a lemon pound cake and chocolate raspberry truffle tartlets.

For drinks, it was either bottled water or sparkling cider. Ever since Maureen went dry she was determined, as a fanatical convert, made sure Timmy and Jarod not imbibed either.

It was easy for Timmy since he never liked the biting taste of alcohol but it was irksome for Jarod since on occasions he did drink a bottle or two of beer at DNI functions. He just made sure that Maureen never knew about the drinking and to wash out his mouth before gracing his presence to her.

Timmy voiced his appreciation of her cooking quite vocally. It was a surprise to this Centre survivor to see this totally surprising and quite welcome side of Maureen's. Another facet of his old friend that made him want to stay around and see what other surprises she had in store.

"This was very good," he indicated with his hand at the remains of their lunch. He patted his stomach gently, letting out a burp. Smiling at her in satisfaction, "Keep this up and I might have to go on a diet."

Maureen chuckled at hearing his burp. Drolly she said, "I'll make sure to give you food poisoning next time."

Lying down on the blanket, Timmy closed his eyes and enjoyed the warming rays of the Sun on his skin. Dressed casually in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals he was enjoying this outing with Maureen. Without opening his eyes, he expressed what he was feeling. "Thanks for doing this. I don't know why but thanks."

She studied him. Chin resting on her right knee Maureen looked on the relaxed form of the man she knew for such a long time. The hard-bitten woman called Timmy her friend but he was a veritable stranger to her. Hell, the only thing she knew for sure about this unique friend of hers was his love of Cracker Jack.

Quietly, she stirred herself after a moment's pause. "This was something that I should have done years," stopping after thinking about her past, "no, several lifetimes ago. Treated you to a day all to yourself." Reaching out to grasp his left hand, "You deserve it." Her voice trailed off as she waited to what he had to say to that.

Timmy never forgot that for a prolong time, Maureen wouldn't touch him. As if he was contagious, dirty, or beneath her. It was only after finishing her prison sentence and her journey home that the ex-Centre puppet displayed her humanity by deigning to have physical contact with him.

He wouldn't respond to what she just uttered. Not yet. For just a brief moment, he relished holding her hand. Timmy felt what she was going through with that sometimes gift, sometimes curse, of his.

The remorse, the sadness, the embarrassment, and the need for his forgiveness all part of a matrix of emotions that seethed inside her.

Rubbing his thumb over her hand, he finally spoke up. "I already got what I deserve." He opened his eyelids to give her an affectionate look. "I got my friend back. What more could I want?"

It took an effort for Maureen to speak past the trembling of her lips. "A real friend unlike me. A friend who cares about you, not treat you as something to be pitied and feel sorry for."

"Is that how you view me? Us?"

She swallowed hard, hating to admit that this was exactly how she felt. A flash of hatred at Tushar for making her face this. "Yes. I was lying to you, as well as me, thinking it was something more than that." Maureen tried to pull her hand away from Timmy's but he held it firmly in his.

"So this outing was your way of making things up between us?" Timmy kept staring at her, making her very uncomfortable.

Unable to break away from his look, guilt rearing its head inside her, Maureen nodded, "Yeah. A picnic and a walk along the beach. It was also," a long contrite sigh escaping from her, "a start for paying so much attention towards Jar while I neglected you. You deserve so much more."

Timmy let go of her hand and raised himself up. He gave her a studied look before proceeding silently to clean up and put away their picnic.

Maureen experienced a letdown as she felt his silence and cold shoulder. But it was what she got for what she did to him. The pain of his silent treatment was beginning to hurt as she copied what the empath did and chipped in with the cleanup.

In complete silence, they put away the picnic basket and threw away the trash. Now, standing next to her car, both eyed each other. Maureen warily, while Timmy was one of calmness.

Finally, the empath spoke to her. "You did hurt me. Make no mistake about that."

Maureen felt like she was hit in the gut listening to what he just said. "I didn't mean to," she hurried to explain. "I was sucking up to that liar thinking he was my father."

"I know and I understand. I truly do," Timmy reassured her. "But I was just a child just like you. It was hard on me, much harder than Jarod. He was the center of attention," his mouth twisted at the unintended pun, "while I was a failed experiment as far as the Parkers were concerned and an oddity to Sydney. Ignored and shuffled off to the side. A plaything for the staff when they got bored with too much time on their hands."

"Timmy, I'm sorry what you had to go through in that hellhole. I wish I could take it away from you." Maureen was miserable but she was going to face this head on. A lot of epithets were laid on her by those she crossed over the decades but coward was not one of them. "That's why I wanted to make this day so special." Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she told him, "Because you are so very special to me."

His response surprised her. Timmy swiftly took her left hand and gently tugged her causing her to follow him. She saw that he was headed in the direction of the beach.

Seeing Maureen's slight look of confusion, he explained, "I believe you owe me a walk along the beach."

Smiling at him, his old friend said, "Of course."

Unknown to Maureen, this was when Faith decided to make an appearance. The spectral blonde woman wore a blue bikini top and from the waist down wrapped in a butterfly themed sarong. She shot her Timmy a loving smile and cast a caring gaze upon her sister.

"She wants to make peace with you, honey." Faith boiled Dr. Tushar's counseling sessions over Timmy down with that one spare sentence. Walking on the other side of Maureen she ached to reach out and hold Maureen's hand just like they did inside the tent as she lay dying.

This was their time but she had to make a quick appearance because of what she felt coming from her sister. Her resurrected conscience was killing her over her treatment of him while serving the Centre. She pushed the limits of her agreement with the PTBs with her observation to Timmy but Maureen can still, at times, tend to beat around the bush rather than come out with what she really wanted to say.

Without tipping off Maureen or scaring the bejesus out of her, Timmy didn't respond directly to his lady. He did pull his head back quickly though to give one quick wink at her before returning to staring ahead again.

The three of them walked mutely for a while, the silence twisting Maureen into a knot but was relieved slightly knowing that Timmy didn't pull his hand away from. It was a good portent.

"I forgave you a long time ago," began Timmy. He brought them to a stop. Looking intently at Maureen, "In fact, it was shortly after you left us for Europe that rather than being angry at you and hold a grudge, you needed my help."

"Your help? Why? You couldn't possibly know what the Parkers were up to," Maureen pointed out, tilting her head in curiosity. Unconsciously, she reached out to take the empath's other hand into hers.

Squeezing her hands, which was cold in spite of the heat of the day, Timmy answered her. "I'm an empath and the Parker brothers gave off bad vibes," his lips twisted at this undeniable truth. "Every time you were with _him_ nothing good came out of him."

Maureen's face showed again to Timmy and Faith, the regrets, the bad choices, and the losses she made and underwent. "If I can only your gift back then, I could have done things differently."

Timmy comforted her. "I wish the same. But my gift came with some fine print." No humor came after this declaration. Reaching up to caress her left cheek, he went on, "I couldn't tell you what I felt. You don't know what a bitch it was trying to get across what I felt to you or Jarod. The two of you weren't the only ones the Centre gave stress to." This time he did chuckle.

Faith joined in the quick chuckle. Since she moved on to the next life, Maureen's sister didn't need to decipher what her other half was trying to explain. She was already a witness to the worst of the Centre's activities as well as becoming one of its victims.

"So we're good?" Maureen wanted to be sure. Because if they were, then one blighted part of her soul was cleansed and she didn't have to see Tushar's nosy face as much as one name was checked off his list.

"Yes, Maureen. We're good." Timmy followed it with another of his bone crushing hug.

"You don't know what that means to me," she quietly spoke into his ear, returning his hug fiercely.

Ending the hug but still holding Maureen by the shoulders, he told her, "I do know." Letting go of her shoulders, he took her hand in his again and proceeded to walk along the beach again.

Timmy saw Faith slowly fading away but her parting words amused him. "Three's a crowd." His lady always had her moments. He'll have to ask what was behind for this drive by appearance of hers sometime later.

"We still got several more hours before heading home. What do you want to do? Any ideas?"

Timmy pondered, thinking of something that they can do. His blue eyes looked up as the sky darkened. A puffy cloud was moving past the Sun. Something tickled his mind as a smile appeared on his face.

Stopping, he pointed up at the clouds that were coming in from the ocean. "Teach me that, Maureen. Ever look at the clouds and see what they look like? Have you done that with Jarod?"

"No, I've never done that before," joining in his smile, Maureen looked up at the mass of clouds. No, she didn't with Jar or anyone else. A warm feeling, a feeling of happiness coursed through her. A second childhood with Timmy and Jar sounded delicious and, this time, wonderful. With no Parkers, no Centre, and no Triumvirate destroying their lives in sight at all.

Hearing her answer, Timmy was happy that he was finally doing something special with his other lady. Pulling her down so they could sit exactly where they stopped, he began with, "Well, I see a dragon over there. What do you see?"

The eagerness in Timmy's voice caused Maureen to laugh out loud, love and delight in her voice; she hugged him tightly before responding. "I see, um…a horse prancing across the sky."

"Do you see that one over there? That's a windmill." The empathic ex-Red File was having fun, laughing together with Maureen as they continued out what their imaginations brought forth. "And, look right there, that's Mickey Mouse."

"Mickey Mouse? Timmy, sometimes I swear…"

* * *

**A/N:** My muse has come back a little with this chapter. I wanted to explore a little bit more of Parker's and Timmy's relationship. The show didn't really, due to time constraints, the nature of their shared experiences growing up and how she changed her views of Timmy changed from a childhood friend to something she only tolerate briefly as an adult.

This chapter isn't as good as my original chapter but it's the best with the very limited time I have on my hands.

Yes, this is part of my plot. So far I'm still sticking to it.

Posted on 18 October 2008.

Please read and review.

Thanks.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 37

The stars shone down on Jarod. At such a high attitude and with no harsh light pollution to drown them out, they shone much brighter and clearer than what he was used to.

Making himself as comfortable as he could in his fighting position, Jarod looked out at his sector of fire. He silently grunted in satisfaction. The point ambush was in place. His team and the Rangers were emplaced and ready to give a very hot welcome to the Talibans. The former Centre prize knew that the size of his force outmatched that of haji. But he, along with his higher ups, wanted no chances taken with these two high value targets. Hanging over their heads was the failure at Tora Bora where the US government made the godawful mistake of giving their supposed local allies the mission of capturing America's most wanted terrorist.

That decision still haunted the men and women tasked with bringing justice to the mass murderer. Thus, here was the former Pretender with an all American force. No local tribesmen or warlords hanging around deliberately sabotaging the mission, informing the enemy, or incompetently carrying out this task.

Finally allowing his very tense body to relax slightly, Jarod looked up once again at the twinkling stars. Those very stars had him recalling the last few days at home before leaving for this remote and unforgiving country. He could never forget the surprise upon hearing that Maureen restarted her old childhood habit of wishing upon the stars.

Startled and, at the same time, amused at this announcement, he asked her what did she wish the last time she did it. Jarod instantly sobered when Maureen looked at him, with fear that she didn't bother to conceal, and said that she wished for him to come home safe and sound.

Jarod instinctively did what he did in the same situation that he found himself in with Rachel. He reassured her that he wasn't going to do anything stupid, that he would be careful over there, and that he will come home to her.

The ex-Pretender tensed at that thought. He was going to go home to her. But as what though? Her friend? Yes. But more like she wish for? Jarod was still debating with himself over what the next step should be.

It was a cloudless but very cold night. He had on his snivel gear to make it through though. Camouflage gore-tex jacket, polypropylene shirt and long johns, balaclava, and fingerless gloves kept him warm while still allowing him the range of motion to carry out the ambush.

While waiting for word from the security teams that the Taliban was approaching, Jarod looked up at the stars and did exactly what his best friend did. He wished upon a star.

_Star light, star bright,_  
_The first star I see tonight,_  
_I wish I may, I wish I might,_  
_Have the wish I wish tonight._

Jarod thought quietly for a moment before making his wish. _I wish for the sign that will let me know what I want to be for Maureen._ He sighed carefully in order not to let his breath be seen by anyone.

He began to wonder what was going on back home with her and Timmy right now when he heard over his earpiece a series of clicks.

All senses went on alert. Jarod could feel his heart pumping furiously. Their targets were about to enter the kill zone.

In his mind's eye, he can see Frank, Rich, and Larry transformed themselves into some of the most dangerous people on the planet ready to go into action upon his command. The same applied to the Rangers. Everyone knew what their part of their mission was.

Tauau and Phomkai were the designated snipers while he and Bagalan were the spotters. Nothing else would happen until after they took down the two HVTs. During the mission prep, all four men intently studied the pictures of the HVTs. DNI even had photo composite software

that allowed for changes to their facial features like what they look like with beards or no beards, turbans worn or not, etc.

Everyone had their thermal imagers aimed at the kill zone. Once Jarod's team found their two targets, he would be the one to give to order to fire or hold. The entire mission's success or failure rested on his shoulders.

It was a burden he was far too intimate with for far too long. Something that he dealt, easily and uneasily, with ever since that nauseating day of discovery when he found out what the Centre did with his sims.

Shaking off those black memories, Jarod got his attention back onto the mission. He looked intently through the thermal imager at the moving figures. He cursed at the resolution of the thermal imager. It wasn't fine enough to tell exactly which of the Taliban party were their targets. But he did have something to compensate for its shortcomings.

His Pretender skills. No, Jarod wasn't going to pretend to be anybody but himself tonight. Rather, he was going to put the skills that Sydney trained him in to find the two mujs. Body language, who was the center of attention, the formation that the Taliban were in was all part of the mental calculations he entered into his brilliant mind to find them.

Jarod carefully studied the Talibans. _There._ Softly, he told the team where the enemy was. "Target Alpha 450 meters at one o'clock. Carrying AKMS."

"Acquired." Tauau confirmed quietly.

"Target Bravo 470 meters at one o'clock. Two blankets crisscrossed over chest with pouch over shoulder."

"Acquired." Phomkai's flat tone came back over his earphone.

One last quick scan of the kill zone to make sure nothing was going to fuck up this ambush. Satisfied with what he saw, Jarod gave his command.

"Fire."

He heard the two shots. Watching through the imager, he saw the targets go down. Immediately hearing the rounds being fired, the Rangers joined in the ambush. The next few frenetic minutes, explosions, bullets going downrange, and shouts were the only sounds heard.

Jarod's team upon completing their task waited until the Rangers finished off the Taliban guards before getting up out of their overwatch position and moved quickly downward in a tactical formation towards the kill zone.

Jarod took point. Leading his three men towards the fallen bodies, all of them acutely aware that some of the "dead" bodies may be playing possum, they had their weapons primed and ready for any nasty surprises.

The DNI team was quickly joined by two of the Ranger platoons while the third provided security. Everyone methodically but hurriedly moved forward. No one wanted to stick around for any local enemy coming to find out what was going on. While Jarod's team and the Rangers weren't shy about fighting, both groups knew that this mission took precedence over everything else. Including sending some more holy warriors to paradise.

Jarod and Tauau paired up while Phomkai and Bagalan did the same. They were all in a hurry to get to the HVTs in case they decided to not be taken alive.

It was a gamble to thread through the dead hajis without making sure they stayed dead but the urgency of their task…Jarod thought.

Their luck held. The Rangers were very thorough. No one decided to pop up and fired off their weapons behind them as they scrambled by them.

Reaching Target Alpha, who was writhing on his stomach, Jarod took the role of guarding Frank while Tauau searched him.

Tauau first kicked the enemy's fallen AKMS, an AK-47 variant, away from them then getting the go ahead from Jarod, who by now had his rifle pointed at Alpha's head, the Samoan laid his bulking body on top of the Taliban and rolled him over.

To the Americans relief, no live grenade went off. With the threat of a booby trap taken care of, Tauau gave immediate first aid to the fallen haji. The hollowpoint bullet that he fired hit Alpha's right shoulder causing significant damage. But looking up at Jarod who gave him a thumb's up, the Samoan knew it wasn't fatal.

First aid taken care, Jarod's partner conducted a systematic search from head to toe for any intelligence materials. Done, Tauau flex-tied Alpha and put hundred-mile-an-hour tape over his eyes and mouth.

The pair saw their other two teammates coming up to them dragging Target Bravo none too nicely to where they were.

"We're good to go here." Phomkai's voice was pitched higher than normal. The adrenalin was still very active in the Laotian.

Jarod grunted out, "Good. Get ready to head out." He took a look at Bravo. The right knee was shattered. His medical training told him that the leg was going to be amputated unless they got him to a field hospital real soon.

Tiredly, Jarod told the team to wait while he went off to see the commander of the Rangers. It was a successful mission. The good guys won with no losses and the bad guys were short by twenty three mujs.

* * *

The smell kept everyone away except for Jarod. He didn't mind it one bit. After living in a true hell hole by the name of the Centre with its stink of fear and death for almost half of his life, the aroma of burning human waste was quite pleasant in comparison.

It was his turn to burn the human waste collected from the latrines. Since his team was billeted with the troops of US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) and the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), his compound was separated from the rest of the sprawling base at Kandahar.

No local labor, no local soldiers, no locals period were allowed in. Thus, no leaks, no secrets divulged, no operations blown, and no pictures of men who operated in the shadows to be targeted.

Security was paramount. But the drawback was that everyone based inside the compound had to do everything for themselves. Like sanitation.

Once the waste was collected, an unpopular detail if there ever was one, the worst detail was to burn it. The result of mixing diesel fuel with the waste then setting it afire was an overpowering stench.

For Jarod, it was a time of solitude. A few hours left alone to do whatever he damn well please.

Right now, he was sitting in a fraying plastic lawn chair left by a long departed special ops unit opening up a care package sent by Maureen and Timmy.

The ex-Pretender was stripped down to just a pair of shorts, socks, and boots. His body armor, helmet, and rifle were within arm's reach. A pair of sunglasses was perched on top of his short cropped hair. He was soaking up some Sun and enjoying the scorching heat of the day.

The first things he saw were the usual items found in a care package sent over six thousand miles. Dried foods like noodles, granola bars, and candy. This, by decades old US military tradition, he shared with his team. Next were the personal hygiene items like unscented baby wipes, razor blades, and dental floss.

At the bottom of the cardboard box was a plastic bag. Opening it, the former Red File saw letters addressed to him from both Maureen and Tim.

Saving Maureen's for last, he read Tim's letter first. The empath told him everything was alright. He and Maureen went for a beach outing where they finally got rid of all their baggage and strengthened their friendship.

Jarod looked up at this and smiled. He was happy for Tim that Parker made the effort to heal and repair their relationship as well as their friendship. What he told her in his office was coming true with each passing day now. That little girl was coming back. Hell, shaking his head ruefully, she was here already.

And he still didn't know how to react to her.

Tim's letter concluded with his remark on how surprised he was by Maureen's cooking. Jarod heaved out a laugh. He couldn't decide whether that was a compliment or not. Well, he was always adventurous especially when it came to her. She always pushed him beyond the boundaries that he set for himself. When he got home, Jarod was going to eat her cooking. He just had to make sure his health insurance was in place before eating the first bite though.

Picking up Maureen's envelope which was larger and felt thicker than Tim's, Jarod wondered what she wrote to deserve such an envelope. Pulling out the contents of the envelope, the ex-Pretender opened up the folder notepaper.

What he saw gave him an instant hard on. A post-it note was stuck at the very edge of the first photo. Reading it, Jarod burst out laughing. It was a gut bursting laugh. He laughed hard and long. The first time he really enjoyed laughing since Rachel's passing. Not even with Timmy did he laugh like this.

He picked up the first picture and reread the post-it stuck.

_Just reminding you of what you're fighting for._

Jarod eagerly went through the twenty pictures of her. The former Miss Parker in sexy lingerie, skimpy bikinis, and her trademarked microskirted business suits. The last picture was the one that almost made him lose control and just take her right there on the spot. Unluckily for Maureen, she wasn't there to quench his raw physical need.

He branded that picture to his soul.

Maureen was nude but her hands strategically covered her private parts. Her hair was done up in a beautiful bun with the end dangling over her right shoulder. The best part of it was her winking at him.

Jarod knew she was winking at him. Only for him.

This was the Centre's Miss Parker. The saucy humor that he delighted in was here in this very picture along with the heavy makeup. She put in a lot of effort into this for him.

It almost made Jarod…the smile faded. It almost made him feel human again.

_Damn you, Maureen._ _You just won't give up, do you?_ he demanded of the sizzling picture.

Resting his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eye. By memory, Jarod leaned slightly over to pick up his bottle of warm beer where it was on the ground and drank a deep gulp from it.

Maureen wasn't playing fair. No, her oldest friend amended. She wasn't fighting fair. The lengths that she was going through to win his love alternately frightened and awed him. Still relaxed in his chair and the Sun beating down on him, he wondered how he was going to win against her or, more pointedly, if he really wanted to.

This was what he wanted a lifetime ago. The Rachel that he loved would have wanted Maureen in his life. The Profiler would have wanted him to be happy. A condition that he was never all that familiar with. He found happiness with Rachel. But that was all so brief that he wondered if that truly was his first and last chance at happiness.

Until, Maureen Parker aka Greene showed up on his doorsteps and again turned his world upside down.

The look she gave him in the hallway after kissing him on the cheek answered every question and settled any doubts about why she was back in his life and what she wanted out of him.

The acidic memories from their Centre years though still held him back from reaching out to her, to open up to her. Rachel was still the other factor that kept Maureen at a distance.

Jarod opened his eye to look up at the clear blue sky before hunching forward to look at the packed ground at his booted feet. Now, at this time in his life, was it love or obsession for Rachel that prevented him from establishing a loving relationship with his old nemesis?

Uneasily, he finished off the beer. The scarred man debated with himself if he should bring this finding to Tushar. He didn't look forward to being borderline interrogated by his therapist but, admittedly, the idiot doctor could clarify the situation for him.

Dropping the empty beer bottle by his gear, Jarod stood up. After safely putting away the steamy pictures, Jarod stretched his taut body. Done stretching, he headed over to the dump to stir up the burning shit once more with three things on his mind.

First, he wasn't going to share the pictures of Maureen with his team. These were too personal to be passed around and be commented on. He can already sim the lewd comments the other three would bat around behind his back and out of his earshot if he did share the racy pictures with them.

Second, request a session with his abrasive psychiatrist about Rachel. Was he in love with her memories or obsessing over them to the detriment of future relationships? Jarod snorted. There was just one future relationship in discussion. Tushar knew it, too. Him and Maureen. No one else entered the picture.

Lastly, Jarod stopped. His breath quivered and shuddered. In the intense heat of the afternoon, a chill crawled down his spine. The Pretender was going to allow a sliver, just a sliver mind you, to imagine what happiness with Maureen would be like.

_Oh, God…_

* * *

**A/N:** Another chapter recreated. Two more to go. In a previous a/n, I intended for this story as a writing exercise. One thing I wanted to do was to try my hand at writing some technothriller scenes.

I found it out it was much more harder than I thought. My estimation at Tom Clancy, Dale Brown, Richard Herman, etc rose a notch. It's not easy trying to write about characters and getting the details of the equipment right.

Anyway, this chapter like the next two are part of the original plot for those who are wondering where this story is going. It's going exactly where I want it to. So far…

Please read and review.

Thank you.


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 38

The Deputy Director of National Intelligence's (DDNI) office was austere but it showed the touch of its owner. Not at all what she imagined or dreaded. The woman formerly named Parker had an image of Ms. Donovan's office as grim and foreboding. Joyless to accompany that funereal atmosphere. But as it turned out the office was brightly lit with halogen lamps, wooden paneled and reservedly decorated, a reflection of its owner. Maureen slowly walked across the marble floor towards the plain wooden desk while openly inspecting the contents of the room and its sole occupant. She caught sight of a dreamcatcher hanging from one of the walls. A tomahawk along with a bow and set of arrows on another. Surprisingly, there was no "I Love Me" wall showing all of her awards, pictures of her with the rich and powerful, and other mementoes of a life lived. Controlled power exuded from the sitting woman who wielded it with a confident assured ease.

Maureen made a dignified halt before the desk that was adorned with miniature American and the Office of DNI's flags that were parts of a very expensive gold pen set. A laptop opened but with a screensaver protecting whatever secret the hawk-eyed woman was working on sat at one corner. Several glasses along with a water carafe at another corner. An actual in/out box on the other. Parker wryly grinned at that. Bureaucracy in action.

Above and behind the woman known to her only as Ms. Donovan, was a pair of poster size pictures. Giving them a closer inspection, Maureen recoiled in horror. The first picture was of the hijacked airplane captured at the exact moment when it struck Sears Tower. The other one captured the image of the skyscraper as it began to collapse.

_Jarod!_ She instinctively shied away every time she saw a picture or something else that reminded her of that black day. From the exact moment in the Centre where he told her how he became what he was now, she relived that heinous moment by unconsciously going into pretender mode simulating what it was like to be in his place, how Jar must have felt the sheer utter horror of seeing the building he was in collapsing upon him. The complete helpless knowledge that he was going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it.

Juana Cloud Runner, seated on her high-backed chair, scrutinized the brunette who suddenly pull back. _Must be the pictures._ She knew the effect they had on some of her guests. The jarring realization of what the pictures were and the unspoken question of why she would have something as terrible as that hanging in her office.

"I failed that day in protecting the people that I swore that I would protect," she said in a cold voice, which effectively concealed the grief and guilt she put herself through each day as she began her work. "Something that will never happen again on my watch." A vow she made on the day of national mourning held right after the attack.

Maureen gave her a curt nod in understanding. As the ex-Centre operative and once former enemy of the state turned away from the repellent pictures, the salt and peppered haired American Indian woman rose gracefully from her chair holding out her right arm and formally greeted her. "Miss Parker, thank you for taking time off from your busy schedule to see me," breaking her stony appearance with a polite greeting. The DDNI knew that was total bullshit since she placed Maureen under surveillance since Agent Russell was deployed to Afghanistan. She wanted to know what this woman would do in his absence.

Miss Parker didn't go anywhere far except to report in to her local US Parole Office and outings with Russell's charge, Tim, per the reports the spy received from her agents. Phone calls made to the prison where Dr. Sydney Greene was incarcerated. She already was up to date on what Parker's parole agent wrote about her. _The perfect parolee._ Her initial suspicion that Parker would ensnare Russell into a honey trap was allayed with evidence that there was no unauthorized hanky panky going on between him and this woman sitting across from her.

Cloud Runner already discounted one other possibility. Russell wasn't susceptible to avarice. A fact established during his exhaustive background investigation. A major consequence of the spy scandals in the waning days of the Cold War and the break that America took from history until Sears Tower tragically brought her back to reality was the common factor that all the traitors shared.

Greed.

Not ideology, neither cause, nor vision. Just cold hard cash. From the Walker spy family to Robert Hanssen to Aldrich Ames it all came down to money to finance their lifestyle, to supplement their meager pension, or spend it on costly toys that they couldn't afford on their government paychecks.

Now, as part of the standard background check and continuing evaluation of all employees in the national security apparatus, everyone's financial condition was examined for anything unusual that might raise a red flag or be a potential disaster in waiting.

They almost missed it. The preliminary credit history check along with the other mundane financial examinations passed without tripping any alarms. However, using newly developed software that was hurriedly fielded after Sear Tower and refined ever since, the Treasury Department, Homeland Security, and the Justice Department were alerted to Jarod's financial assets.

The scale of his assets was impressive, extremely impressive. Tracing them was a herculean task for the investigators. Jarod was very clever in covering his tracks. It took the most experienced investigators to find the loot. In fact, Jarod's methods were so admired by the various law enforcement and intelligence agencies that they were taught to beginning agents specializing in tracing money laundering, tax evasion, bribery, and terrorist financing.

Cloud Runner remembered whistling in admiration at perusing the list of assets that the three departments put together. Old Masters artwork displayed in London, gold bullion and platinum ingots held in South African vaults, baskets of foreign currencies bought and sold in Hong Kong, American stocks and bonds, soybean and corn futures traded in Brazil, Asian real estate, and diamonds bought and stored in Canada. There were other financial instruments that he used and which she didn't have a clue how he profited off of them.

Jarod was rich. A multimillionaire. Just where he got the seed money raised everyone's hackles.

The FBI, IRS, and various other local, state, and federal financial crimes and white collar task forces questioned him, demanding to know how he got the money and why anyone with that kind of money would be so stupid to work for a living when he could be sitting on a beach sipping a drink with a tiny umbrella in it.

Jarod first caught Cloud Runner's attention during this period. Having just been confirmed as the Deputy Director of National Intelligence, she had gotten her hands dirty in recruiting the best people to her office. Jarod was one of the best but his background was troubling.

The Pretender's background was unique among all other applicants which also raised barriers to Uncle Sam hiring him. Among his problems with his recruitment into ODNI were absolutely no work history at all, his uncanny ability to impersonate all types of occupations (the last thing a spy agency wanted was to be hauled before another publicity seeking Congressional inquisition and their media accomplices panting to be the next Woodward and Bernstein trying to explain why they had an con artist on its payroll), membership in a criminal and terrorist organization (it didn't matter that he was kidnapped as a child by the Centre and duped by it about the purpose of his work. The question was can he be loyal to the United States of America?), and his physical impairments.

Russell was brilliant though. A genius level IQ. He would have been automatically qualified for MENSA membership. He could have written his own ticket, pick whatever he wanted to do with his life, done anything anywhere that tickled his fancy.

Yet, he chose to apply to work for the government in its grimmest and dangerous field. The question was why. What was his ulterior motive? Then there Rachel Burke's enthusiastic involvement. His wife. She was too close to him, too emotionally invested in Russell to give an honest assessment of this mysterious man. But she was phoning, emailing, meeting, and writing anyone who could help him get on board, to give him a chance to serve. She somehow managed to enlist her fellow VCTF agents into giving him character references _even after_ they found out Russell duped them into believing he was an actual FBI agent. It was a strange sort of love trying to convince the federal government to put her husband into a job that had more than a passing chance of getting him killed.

Curious about this man she decided to meet him in person. Seeing Russell for the first time left an indelible impression upon her. The intelligence she saw in his eye shone brightly as well as the emotions she saw in it. The determination, the guilt, the pain, all of them she took in to be analyzed later at her hard driven pace.

Cloud Runner decided to test him. Russell hadn't yet revealed the source of his funds to the frustrated investigators. Now, she was going to ask the same question and wait for his answer. If he answered truthfully, she would consider hiring him; if he didn't answer at all he would be thrown to the tender mercy of politically ambitious US Attorneys and local district attorneys.

The Pretender surprised her by letting her in on the source of his money. In a detached clinical tone, he told her that he embezzled the money from the Centre as reparations for his involuntary servitude as well as workers compensation, a direct reference to the physical abuse the Centre inflicted upon him. Then using his financial acumen, Jarod invested the money carefully. Diversification and the magic of compounded interest did the rest.

With a start, Cloud Runner believed Russell. That was the beginning of their relationship. She was inclined to bring him on board but before doing that, the DDNI had Jarod put through the most rigorous security checks the government could devise. They would confirm his claim that he wanted to join the government in order to protect innocents from being attacked by the likes of the Centre again.

Jarod underwent the standard Personnel Security Investigation and National Agency Check given to every US government employee and contractor needing a security clearance, the Personnel Reliability Program used on men and women assigned to work with nuclear weapons, alcohol and substance abuse tests, and counterintelligence scope polygraph to determine if he was a sleeper or a mole for a enemy of the United States were all given to Jarod.

Russell passed all of them even though the rarest of waivers were granted by the National Security Council for his aborted attempt at morphine addiction while hospitalized for his Sears Tower injuries, the methods of making his financial bonanza, and his peripatetic life outside the Centre.

After all these years working with him, Cloud Runner still had the nagging suspicion that Russell didn't reveal all of his hidden wealth. A suspicion she can't act upon even though all the local, state, and federal investigators, hard-bitten cops who've dug into the convoluted financial dealings of, for example, the Colombian drug cartels, the Irish Republican Army, the Eastern European sex slave trade, the Southeast Asian pedophile rings, and the African blood diamond networks, signed off the finding declaring all of his wealth was accounted for.

Money wasn't a motivator in Russell's life now. What worried the career spy was whether he was finally moving on with his life after his long mourning period. If he did, would it be with Parker? Regarding the tall regal woman, Cloud Runner was almost fully convinced that she would be invited to their wedding. That brought up the next nagging concern. Just what kind of influence and how deep it was that this dynamic woman would have on her prized agent? Would this ex-convict persuade Russell to leave government service?

If Russell was inclined to listen to Parker than all of her plans for the one eyed son of a bitch to become her successor and assumed the mantle of Deputy Director of National Intelligence could be for naught.

That was the purpose of this visit. Find out what was going between her agent and this traitorous vixen was the first step. From there, the nation's number two spy was going to co-opt Parker. Her resolve to get Russell taking over her position wasn't going to be deterred by anyone, not even his wannabe fuck buddy or whatever the hell they were to each other.

Maureen hid her nervousness perfectly behind a perfectly neutral face. But she couldn't forget what Jar told her about the unnerving woman who just politely greeted her.

She remembered Jarod's stark description of the American Indian. His eyes softened fractionally when he discussed his boss. _Think of her as a very, very competent Mr. Parker with the powers of the world's greatest country at her fingertips._ The respect and admiration came through from the ex-Pretender's stance, voice, and eye.

His eyes hardened immediately again as he continued to describe Cloud Runner to Maureen. Grasping her arms in his hands, squeezing them just like he did in the kitchen when he ordered her not to call Timmy Angelo, conveying his urgency, he warned Maureen, _don't fuck with her._ _She's not like Mr. Parker, Raines, or Lyle. She's much smarter than those bastards. She personally tangled with and killed some of the most dangerous criminals, spies, and terrorists that you do not want to meet in a dark alley. She's also got people who actually know how to do their job, unlike the Centre's bottom feeders._

Again, the almost painful squeeze as he repeated his warning. _Don't fuck with her._

Jarod's cautionary words hung over her as the DNI's number two gestured towards the carafe of water. "Water, Miss Parker?" inquired of the solicitous spy.

Feeling the scratchiness in her mouth, Maureen agreed, "Yes, please." Taking the proffered glass, she hesitated as the glass touched the tip of her tongue.

Juana Cloud Runner had a glitter in her dark brown eyes. Letting a slip of humor touch her tone, she assured Maureen, "It's safe, Miss Parker."

"Of course, Ms. Donovan. I would never imply that you're untrustworthy," Maureen returned mockingly, ignoring Jarod's warnings. She instinctively knew that this meeting wasn't going to be some kind of social chit chat between her man's boss and herself. It also was not another interrogation session. It was going to be somewhere in between those two outliers. Whatever it was, the steely willed woman was going to be ready for whatever the other woman threw at her. "Oh, and by the way, my name is Miss Greene. Maureen Greene. I got it legally changed." She still winced at that rhyming of her names. What were Momma and Jacob thinking when they named me?

Cloud Runner scowled at Parker's impertinence. If that's how she wanted to play then so be it. "Miss Parker," she began, a chilly hint of smile gracing her lips, "until my office receives something more tangible than your assertion of a name change, I'm afraid that I and this office will have to continue to address you as Miss Parker." Cloud Runner's stance seemed to suggest that what one can do about bureaucratic absurdities except to accept them for what they were.

Technically, the calculating American Indian woman was correct. Her office hadn't gotten around to updating Parker's file yet. Right now, the file was sitting in her office's safe, with the report from her agents mentioning Maureen's name change as well as supporting documents like the court petition for the change of Parker's surname to the final court decision granting it and having it entered for the public record.

Cloud Runner could have updated it herself but chose not to. Petty, she confessed to herself. But she was a control freak as well as a power player. Even in a meeting like this she couldn't, wouldn't shy away from a fight or a challenge, not even a dare. She won't let Maureen Greene formerly Parker gain any advantage or be allowed to have the upper hand.

Taking another sip from her glass of water, Maureen gave the other woman a moue. "That's unfortunate, Ms Donovan. Jarod gave me the impression that this was a very efficient and competent federal agency." Between the two strong-willed women, hanging in the air was Maureen's implication that ODNI was slow and inept.

"Due to national security concerns I can't tell you how effective we really are. Otherwise, I would be delighted to correct your misperceptions of my agency." Cloud Runner masked her anger at the insult that the ex-con sitting serenely across from desk put out. ODNI was her pride and joy. Her stamp upon the intelligence community. She won't tolerate anyone questioning its effectiveness.

Maureen knew that she was reflexively falling into the same defenses that she used to survive the T-Boards. They successfully served her well in avoiding getting a bullet in the head.

Despite the cold but proper greeting that Ms. Donovan gave her, this wasn't a T-Board. Maureen could feel it in her bones that she wasn't going to be executed here in this office for whatever the reason she was brought here for. Her understanding made her become a little less thorny than she initially was.

Settling deeper into her chair and adopting a posture of guarded relaxation, Maureen asked of Jarod's boss, "So what do you want, Ms. Donovan?" Since this wasn't a T-Board or another of that onion layer meetings in Mr. Parker's office where she peeled away one layer of deceit to finding another layer of deception and beneath that another layer and another…

Juana Cloud Runner had read Dr. Tushar's redacted synopses of his sessions with Parker and understood the constant betrayals, deceptions, and secrets that plagued most of the younger woman's life. Deciding that a large heaping of truth was the best approach to bring Parker into line and support her plan, Cloud Runner revealed to Maureen her real name. "My name is Juana Cloud Runner. My title is Deputy Director of National Intelligence. Jarod works directly for me." She let a moment go by before resuming. "I'm surprised Russell didn't tell you."

The stocky olive skinned Crow Indian waited for Parker's answer. This was a test of Jarod's ability to keep a secret. By her direct order, Jarod wasn't to reveal Cloud Runner's real name or position to Parker. Now, she'll see if he obeyed her.

Maureen began to answer when all of a sudden her long dormant Inner Sense went off in her head. A searing pain slammed into her head as the voices, the loudest being Momma's, emphatically telling her to say no. She closed her eyes as she tried to shake it off.

"Miss Parker, are you okay?"

Maureen sucked in a ragged breath before responding to the DDNI's questioning voice. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just a migraine, that's all."

Cloud Runner was a suspicious woman. She had to be in this line of work. So when Parker decided to conveniently have a migraine attack before answering her question, it made her wonder if the other woman was trying to distract her. Well, she told herself, if that was Parker's intention, it wasn't going to work.

"As I was saying, I'm surprised Russell didn't tell you who or what I am."

Getting the message from her now quiescent Inner Sense, Maureen answered the loaded question. "No, Jarod didn't tell me anything about you. What I know about you was what I learned at the FBI building." Both remember that first rocky meeting.

"I see." Either Jarod followed her command or he did tell Parker and she was covering it up for him. Her initial impression upon studying Parker was Russell had indeed not revealed her true identity to the ex-convict. Accepting that call from her instincts, the Crow Indian settled back into her chair. "I guess we should get down to business then."

Maureen silently assented. She also wanted to get to the bottom of this encounter and get the hell out of this woman's presence.

Reaching down with her right hand, Cloud Runner pulled out a drawer. Reaching in, she took out a set of papers that were stapled together. She studiously ignored the curious gleam in Parker's eye as she placed it between them on the desk. "Just how much do you care about Russell?" the spy demanded of the other woman.

Maureen lifted her head up at the Cloud Runner's clipped voice. "A lot," she shot back. She squared her shoulders bracing for whatever was to come from Jarod's boss.

"A lot," Cloud Runner repeated. Lifting an eyebrow at the brunette, she pointed out, "That doesn't tell me much, Miss Parker. How about rephrasing it to: are you willing to die for him? Willing to go back to prison for him?" A hidden smile as she saw Parker flinching at that suggestion. Pausing to make the time stretch out, "Or, making sure he takes a path that is best suited for him?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Maureen rasped out, the first sparks of her latent anger growing. She could feel the anger and anxiety building inside her as she began to see where this meeting was heading and why she was brought in to see this Machiavellian spy. "I won't let you hurt Jarod or have him be taken advantage of." This was starting to smell like one of Mr. Parker's shrill meetings about his missing prized Pretender.

A brusque dip of the salt and pepper hair was the only sign that Maureen saw that her words were even heard by the stern faced Indian. Cloud Runner absently rubbed the fingers of her left hand before speaking again. "The way the Centre took advantage of that poor bastard? The same place that viewed you, like Lenin once described people who should have known better, as a useful idiot?"

Cloud Runner's stinging description of her, which was so apt, tamped down some of the anger but not enough since Jarod's life was in play here. "Damn right you are. They took away his childhood and made his adult life a guilt trip from hell." Trapping Cloud Runner's obsidian eyes with her fiery blue-gray eyes, she added, "Believe me, I've been there, done that and went away for it. That's why I won't let him go through that ever again. I'll goddamn fight you every step of the way."

_Don't fuck with her_. Maureen ignored Jarod's warning. She knew the same didn't apply to the Deputy Director of National Intelligence. The wily spy definitely could and would fuck with her. It was only a matter what, when, where, why, and how the fucking was going to be done to her that she wasn't sure of. It didn't matter though, she sacrificed once to save Jarod's life, she wouldn't hesitate to do so again.

Bile threaten to spew out of her as she regretfully remembered the unforgettable treatment meted out to her by her prison's Goon Squad and the other guards for losing her temper. Now, beneath her combative persona, uncertainty gripped her as she awaited the spy's response to her vow.

Without speaking and giving Parker a piercing look, Cloud Runner opened the same drawer that contained the stapled document that lay between them. Reaching in, out came a single sheet of paper. She slapped it down on the edge of her desk making Maureen jump. "Read that," placing her fingertip on the single sheet of paper.

Maureen warily kept her eyes on the forbidding spy while her right hand reached out and grasped the paper. Breaking eye contact, she proceeded to hurriedly scan it not caring to read too carefully. That changed quickly as she saw words like Jarod…resign…non-disclosure agreement…

Cloud Runner saw Parker's head shot up to look at her demanding to know if it was for real. As a woman of few words, she nodded yes to Russell's whatever the hell she was. She also hoped Parker got the _fuck you, you little cunt!_ message for insultingly comparing her to the misbegotten Centre.

The brunette missed the heated look the DDNI gave her as she perused the letter. A letter of resignation signed by Jarod. Surprised, she looked up in to meet the iron gaze of Cloud Runner's.

"Why?" was the first word to come out of her mouth. Confusion wrapped its arms around her. She felt the ground shift under her. This wasn't anything like the Centre and its murderously insane procedurals.

A disdainful sneer crossed the care-worn face that saw too much, felt too much, did too much in her event packed life. "My people, including Russell, are volunteers. They know what they're getting into when they join this office." Shifting her stocky frame again, Cloud Runner continued in a voice of conviction, "I want and need team players who are committed one hundred percent to this office's mission. Not instant limousine liberals wringing their hands over the methods we used against our enemies or insisting that we're as evil as them. If any of them can't hack it, all they have to do is write down the date when their resignation goes into effect and I'll have one less problem to fix."

Maureen looked down again at the resignation letter and, sure enough, no date was written. It was left blank. She lifted her head up and commented to the waiting spy, "This sound so reasonable, so logical." The ex-Red File tapped hard on the letter tightly gripped in her left hand. "There has to be a catch."

A rude sound emerged from Cloud Runner's mouth. Brushing a hand across her mouth, she flatly told Maureen, "No catch. No fine print. This isn't the Centre. Get that through that damn thick skull of yours. This also isn't the Village where Jarod's Number 6 and me as Number 2 demanding to know why he resigned." As though Parker didn't get it, she reached out and reverently caressed the small American flag. She looked fixedly at the skeptical brunette and slowly told Maureen, "Jarod has rights as a citizen under the Constitution which the Centre never respected and did its best to undermine. If the son of a bitch wants out, I will not let anybody stand in his way. Are we clear on this, Miss Parker?"

Gathering herself and feeling slightly ashamed for equating her country's morality with the Centre's lack thereof, Maureen leaned slightly forward and laid Jarod's resignation letter on the desk. "Clear as a bell."

"Hmm, let's hope that you do," Cloud Runner said, not entirely sure if Parker accepted her assurances or not. _Deeds not words._ If Russell ever did resign, as she told the ex-convict sitting waiting for to speak, she wouldn't stop him and would make sure no overzealous bureaucrat did the same. Something that this meeting was designed to prevent.

Next, touching the stapled document, Cloud Runner commanded Maureen, "Pick it up and read it. All of it." She settled back and expectantly waited for Parker's reaction.

Maureen reined in her irritation at hearing the Indian's preemptory order and sullenly picked up the document. She began to read but stopped to exclaim out loud to Cloud Runner, "A presidential pardon!?"

There was no response from the spy except for an air of patient waiting. A signal that Parker picked up as she continued to read this stunning document. Word for word, line by line she read it. When she was done, she surprised herself by finding her hands were shaking. She hastily laid the pardon back down on Cloud Runner's desk. "Why would you do this for me?" Maureen was shocked at the pardon and more shocked at how much she wanted it. But there had to something, a quid pro quo for being pardoned by the President.

Resting her arms on the chair's armrest and tilting slightly forward, Cloud Runner bluntly answered her, "It's not for you. It's for the country."

Confusion clouded Maureen's blue-gray eyes. She was starting to get lost. "Country?"

"The one thing I share with your Centre, much as I detest to admitting that I share anything with that damn organization, is we both view Jarod as an asset. A very valuable asset."

Maureen's shock and confusion quickly changed back to anger. "Is that all you see him? As an asset?" She wanted to leap across the desk and throttle that supercilious woman with the perpetual bad attitude.

Cloud Runner inclined her head acknowledging Parker's heated question. "Yes. I have to see him like that. But," she added in a kinder voice, "I also see him as a decent young man who's making a difference in this crazy world of ours."

The brunette brushed her hand through her hair as she mentally yearned for a stick of gum. Her stress level was going up the longer she was in this office. "What do you want with us?" A part of her heart warmed at the notion that they were in it together.

Loathing the concept of what she just heard from Parker's mouth, that Parker and Russell were a team, a misshapen scowl touched the spy's face. "I won't be working here as long as I want to. Seeing that I'll be hitting mandatory retirement age several years from now, I have to prepare a succession plan." It was a bitter acknowledgement that she was not getting any younger and that she was slowly going to have to leave something she absolutely reveled in.

Cloud Runner was going to continue but Maureen jumped in. "Jarod. You want him to take your job." Now it was starting to make sense, the purpose of this meeting. But her part in this was still murky.

Juana Cloud Runner shook her head sourly. "I underestimated you. You are as smart as the Centre files claimed you were." Tapping her fingers on desk a moment before leaning back in her chair, the Deputy Director of National Intelligence gently rapped the armrests with her knuckles. "Sometime in the future this will be his, Miss Parker."

Disquiet at hearing this, Parker ventured to ask, "What if Jarod doesn't want it? Maybe he made other plans that don't include that." She gestured at the chair that Cloud Runner was sitting in.

"He will," a confident Cloud Runner said, no shred of doubt in her voice or eyes. If she can convince Parker to sign on.

"Oh, really," Parker shot back. She was going to stand in for Jarod since he couldn't protect himself right now. "What do you have in store to convince him?"

A Cheshire cat grin slowly formed on the olive-skinned face. Once Maureen saw that grin, she went on guard. Jarod's warning once again popping up. _Don't fuck with her._ A stark realization descended upon Maureen when she realized that Cloud Runner had spent a considerable amount of time preparing for this.

"The Centre in its heyday can only offer money and power to its people. Right?" Seeing Maureen's hesitant nod, the Crow resumed, "My position doesn't pay well compared to the private sector and, yes, I do wield a lot of power. But that power is circumscribed by law and checks and balances."

Trying to ease the tension in her shoulders Maureen said, "So you got what for him? A corner office?" She slowly and deliberately looked around the windowless room.

Smiling faintly, Cloud Runner shook her head, "No. For security reasons a corner office isn't one of the perks of this job." She peeked over at the clock, seeing the time the spy still have plenty of time to change and head over to the White House for the state dinner that she and her husband were invited to. "What I offer him, to borrow the West Point motto," turning back to Maureen, "is duty, honor, country."

"Is that all?" scoffed Maureen, eyes rolling. Her cynicism, bred by her years in the bowels of the Centre, reared its ugly head. The Indian must be stupid to think Jarod would fall for that.

Maureen saw Cloud Runner silently studied her for a few moments before displaying a dark look for her. Folding her arms across her chest, she said, "That attitude is what brought down the Centre and made you what you are. Oscar Wild described you perfectly, Miss Parker. A person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing." Finally letting some of her anger show, Cloud Runner locked eyes with her trying guest. "We offer something greater than self, a cause, a purpose. It isn't for nothing that a lot of idealist people actually answered the call when Kennedy asked not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country."

"I'm going to work for my family's foundation and I'm sure I can find a position for Jar there, too," Parker defensively fought back, Cloud Runner's stinging description of her hurting more than she thought. Tushar's therapy notwithstanding, she still saw the worst in people. It was her survival mechanism.

Skepticism shone in the dark brown eyes. "They sure are taking their sweet time getting you onboard. I wonder whether Russell would be happy there if he accepted your offer." Satisfied in stinging Parker once more, Cloud Runner continued on ignoring the flush working down the other's face. "But back to my point. Jarod does believe in it as do I and others. We attract those driven by patriotism, selfless service, duty to help and protect others. The Centre could never attract nor afford to attract those kinds of people to work for it. That's why when Special Agent Russell's memorial was held, over 1500 people attended. There was the FBI Director, her local congressman, law enforcement personnel across the country representing their agencies, her co-workers, and crime victims that she helped who grieved for her. Tell me, Miss Parker, who would attend your funeral?"

She broke eye contact with Cloud Runner as her question hung in the air between them. Maureen was simultaneously trying to absorb another piece of the puzzle that was Rachel while her mind's eye could only picture three figures that would miss her. Jarod, Timmy, and Ethan. There was no one else. If there were, they would probably be there to make sure that she was dead.

Observing that Maureen wasn't going to answer her cruel question, Cloud Runner voice deepened as she displayed a little of her urgency. "Our country will be in safe hands with Jarod here," patting her desk again, "helping run ODNI. Are you going to help your country by convincing him to stay?"

Maureen agitatedly brushed her hand through her long blond hair. "Why him, why not some other do-gooder, huh? Hasn't he done enough for you and the country?" She was so sick of everyone wanting something from him.

A pained look as Cloud Runner was assaulted with regrets and what-ifs. "For some, it's never-ending. This country takes and takes whatever you have and sometimes it's still never enough." She emitted a tired laugh. "The funny thing is some of us are willing to give everything we have."

"Then how could you be so heartless as to put him where you are now?" Parker demanded, increasingly determined to get Jarod out of this life, as she learned more from Cloud Runner.

The spy shot back, "Because he's the best man for this. His IQ is near the top, his Pretender skills are just basic analysis on steroids, and his heart is in the right place."

"I won't let him. Jarod needs peace in his life. Let him go," pleaded Parker. "Let him enjoy life rather hate it. He has so damned many reasons to hate life."

Knowing Jarod's tortured background, Cloud Runner understood exactly what Parker was talking about. However, her sympathies had to be balanced with her sense of duty which demanded that Jarod be her chosen successor. "He can save lives here," silencing Maureen with a glare as the ex-Centre operative was about to interrupt, "protecting others with that remarkable brain of his. This is also something that he craves."

Unwilling but dying to know what it was, Parker warily asked, "What are you talking about? What craving?"

Cloud Runner smiled inwardly. The bait was laid out and she just needed to play the line out. "A cause to believe in. Something that Jarod hungered for ever since he escaped from the Centre."

Parker's mind froze. This was unknown territory for her. She couldn't muster any counterargument because in her entire adult life there was nothing that she believed in. She lost her faith after Momma's death so the Church was out of the question. The Centre? Maureen felt lips curled in contempt thinking about that. The Centre was never a cause worth dying for. Hell, it wouldn't hesitate to kill its most loyal servants if they screw up an assignment. She'd seen enough examples of that. No, the closest thing to a cause in her messed up life was protecting those she loved like Jarod, Syd, Broots, Debbie, and Timmy

Weighing Parker's indecisiveness, Cloud Runner chose to reel in the line a little bit by playing on Parker's gifts. "Under different circumstances, Miss Parker, the person we would be discussing wouldn't have been Jarod." She waited as she saw Maureen leaned forward slightly upon hearing her comment. "It could have been you that I would be recruiting for my position."

A shaky smile, confusion and incomprehension coloring Maureen's blue-gray eyes. "Me? I… Why me?"

Stroking her chin, Cloud Runner didn't answer immediately. Surveying the other woman, a beautiful woman physically albeit messed up emotionally and mentally, she honestly believed Parker could have been a suitable candidate for the punishing job of Deputy Director of National Intelligence. If Parker had lived a much more different life than the actual one she lived through.

"This could have been yours," the current DDNI resumed. "I've looked over your life's story from our records and the Centre's. You have all the attributes of a field operative: the rapid ability to adapt to changing circumstances, excellent marksmanship, the internal willpower to drive on when the easiest thing to do would have been to quit, and a physique that, aside from your ulcers, at its peak. Add to that your obvious high intelligence, you would have moved rapidly up the ladder and I would have gotten you under my wings."

Praise was something Maureen wasn't used to hearing; at least not after Momma was gone. She never heard praises issuing forth from either that rat bastard who called himself her father, nor anyone else at the Centre. They just used her abilities like she was a tool and nothing else. Feelings, thoughts, the intangibles that animated a human body weren't even considered. Now, this spy was complimenting her and it pleased her inordinately.

The pleasant feeling faded though as regret took center stage. Cloud Runner's compliments were just in a string of reminders of the toll her life choices had on her. Ruthlessly ridding herself of that helpless feeling, Parker composed herself before speaking to the waiting spymaster. "Thank you. I wish my life had turned out differently and that maybe I would have wound up working for you." An olive branch was proffered. "I might have been proud to have work for you, Ms. Cloud Runner."

Now it was the spy's turn to be caught off guard. Hearing those words made her instinctively suspicious but watching the emotions that churned underneath that placid exterior of Parker's convinced her that it was Parker trying to be nice. But duty called out to her again. She had to take advantage of this opening and ignoring her conscience she took it.

"I'm sure you would, Miss Parker. It would have been just like what I have with Jarod. May I call you Maureen?" A jerky nod from Parker. "But, sadly that is not to be. However, you can be of great service to Jarod and our country once he assumes this position."

Maureen's restrained look of disbelief replaced the tentative peace offering. "In what way?" She crossed her long legs and folded her hands in her lap as the thought that flitted across her mind that she was crazy to even ask this question. Jarod's ex-huntress heart was firmly set on taking him away from this dangerous life and living a more peaceful and safer existence.

"Once he's confirmed as DDNI, he'll have enemies. I guarantee you that. One of the ways they'll attack him will be through you. You're made to order for Jarod's enemies to stab him in the back and undercut his support in Congress and with whoever the President will be at that time. That's why I'm blunting that avenue of attack with the pardon," Cloud Runner illustrated the infighting that was part and parcel of life inside the Beltway.

"Is that all? Being attacked?" A dry tone etched Maureen's question. "Any other occupational hazards?"

A thin-lipped smile formed on Cloud Runners lips. To Maureen's question she answered, "Being attacked comes with the job. What also comes with it is the stress, the isolation, the knowledge that you hold people's lives in your hands, and the specter of failing in your responsibilities." She resisted from turning around to stare at the Sears Tower. "It's why my husband is a godsend. He's helped me through some very tough stretches." The spy hit upon the sympathy angle even though she didn't want anyone to know her vulnerabilities.

"And you presume that I would willingly go along to help Jarod in a job that the more you tell me the more detest?" She ended on a tone of disbelief.

"You know, I saw it in your eyes," the Crow Indian gently remarked, unwilling to answer Parker's question directly.

"What are you talking about?" Maureen snapped, trying to hide her caution. Cloud Runner was a convoluted woman who was doing her damn best to set off a real migraine in Maureen's head.

"You want it," Cloud Runner declared with a knowing glance at the brunette. "The respect, the legitimacy, the clearing of all accounts. A brand new start all at the stroke of a presidential signature. A presidential seal of approval that tells the world that Maureen Parker had finally paid her debt to society and can began life anew with the man she loves and to make something of herself so that she can look at herself in the eye as well as others. Hmm? Yes or no?"

Parker squirmed under the baleful look of Cloud Runner's. Yes, she wanted it. She wanted to hear from an authority figure that her crimes were forgiven, that she can move on to make the most of what was left of her life. Life with Jarod, no matter where it would take the both of them.

Her resistance and determination, her surety, was eroding under the patient waves of Cloud Runner's implacability. The temptation of the pardon paper, the evidence of Jarod's resignation letter, and the emotional manipulation warred with her dream of a quiet life with Jar. One where the worst crisis is whether the toilet seat stays up or down.

Cloud Runner could feel the softening in Parker's attitude. A little, not much. It was enough though for her to throw in another bait in her campaign to get Jarod be the next DDNI.

"Maureen," she waited as the seconds ticked by before Parker finally responded to her, "there is an immediate benefit if you agree to help me convince Jarod to become the next Deputy Director."

Suspicion clouded Parker's eyes as she waited to hear what it was. "What would that be?"

"He would be pull off active field service and be immediately reassign to an analysis position." Smiling comfortingly, Cloud Runner added, "Knowing the bastard, he'll excel in that like everything else he does." _That's why he's perfect for DDNI._

A mixture of emotions swirled inside Parker as she sat there digesting the latest enticement from the Indian. Resentment at the spy for continuing to emotionally manipulate her and an enormous sense of relief that her worst fear of Jarod getting killed would not come to be.

Maureen stood up from her chair while Cloud Runner alertly watched her from behind her desk. Crossing her arms across her chest, she paced before the wooden desk. Finally stopping after a couple of circuits, she stared down at her hostess' dark eyes, "I want what's best for him. I don't want him to be hurt anymore. He's gotten more than his fair share of that."

Cloud Runner agreed with her. "You're right. He shouldn't have to go through hell again. But I want the best for this country."

Both women immediately understood that they wouldn't budge from their positions.

The spy was the first to break the impasse. Sighing, shaking her head, Cloud Runner said, "You're my worst case scenario where Jarod's career is concern."

"Me?" Maureen arched a thin eyebrow.

The DDNI closed her eyes and, for a few seconds, leaned her head against the backrest of her chair. Frustration radiated off of her. Opening her eyes to see Parker waiting impatiently for an answer, Cloud Runner told her, "You're not going away, are you?"

"Leave Jarod?" She shook her brown tresses defiantly. "The only way I'll leave him is in a body bag," Parker pledged, recalling her vow to love and care for Jar.

Seeing the heated response to the question, the spy continued, "Don't tempt me." Forestalling Parker's well developed sense of paranoia, she raised an upright palm. "I won't hurt you or make you disappear. Even if I did, which I won't, Russell would have found out sooner or later and his response would be…um…explosive. Am I right?"

A soft, "Yes." Maybe it was her Inner Sense or her undeveloped Pretender gene, but whatever it was, Maureen actually trusted Cloud Runner's word about not harming her.

"So, that means you'll be with Jarod for the foreseeable future." A vexed tone colored her next words. "Why can't you just be fuck buddies? Just fuck him and go away. That would be the easiest solution for my dilemma." Cloud Runner folded her arms across her chest as she gave Parker a hawk-eyed stare. The Indian pointed out truthfully, "He still has a fine body in spite of the scars and missing left arm and eye." Cloud Runner admitted to herself and secretly apologizing to her husband that Russell was one hell of a stud when she saw the DSAs and pictures before Sears Tower permanently changed him.

Maureen's voice was firm and set on making an indelible impression on Jarod's boss. "I want more than just fucking him each and every night for the rest of my life. Even though that is a very delicious idea." An unwilling smirk showed and faded away very quickly. "I want something more permanent with him. I believe Jar wants the same." _Please, please let it be so._

"If that's the case, Maureen," began Cloud Runner, "you better bone up on your social etiquette and learn how to sink a knife in someone's back with wit and grace at the social soirees the two of you will be invited to."

Maureen's nostrils flared at the DDNI's presumption. "I thought I made it clear that I'll get Jarod out of this world, no matter who gets in the way." Her implication was very clear at who she was referring to.

Cloud Runner knew but wasn't worried about it. She still had several more tools to convince Russell to sign up for DDNI. It was just the sheer annoyance that it had to be a 2-for 1 deal.

Still, if that's how it had to be, she would show one weapon in her arsenal to Parker. Standing up herself, she asked Maureen, "Do you know Russell's family history?"

Puzzlement outlined Maureen's face. "What does this," indicating the office, "have anything to do with Jarod's family?"

Walking around her desk to stand before Maureen, the Indian sighed grumpily. Even though she was wearing 2 inch heels, she still had to look up at the brunette. "You know that his father was an Air Force officer…"

"I know all about Major Charles," interrupted Parker.

"…but his paternal grandfather and great-grandfather were also in the military. The first was a naval aviator in World War Two and the last was an infantryman in World War One." She slowly circled around a now curious and slightly unnerved woman. "A family with a legacy of military service. I think you're aware that Jarod was obsessed with the idea of family after what the Centre did to him. So you can see that I have some leverage with your man."

Maureen subvocally cursed, not loud enough where Cloud Runner could hear her. But if the bitch could read her body language, she would have known exactly how she felt about this latest wrinkle to her goal.

Yes, she knew Jarod's obsession with his family. Ever since he was torn away from them as a mere babe, his objective was to reunite with them. Eventually he did but the happy ending he envisioned turned out to be anything but. Now, she was hearing from a stranger that Jarod's family had a tradition of military service.

Turning around to lock eyes with Cloud Runner, she said, "I don't see how that is relevant to our discussion. With the spies working for you, you must know what kind of condition the major is in right now. I don't think that's going to help you with Jar."

"A drunk chasing after jail bait? Yes, I do know. But," Cloud Runner pointed out, "that's not the issue."

"Then what is," demanded Maureen. She was starting to tap her foot. A bad sign for Cloud Runner.

"Jarod's thrilled at the idea that his family has this continuity with the past, a family tradition you might say. The Centre didn't give him anything to be proud of. What's more, for your information, Russell can drive over to Arlington National Cemetery to see his grandfather's gravesite. A physical link to someone that he missed knowing anything about while growing up in that hellhole."

Maureen maintained her defiant stance. Tucking her hair behind her ears, still wishing for a stick of gum, she insisted to an attentive Cloud Runner, "I'm glad that Jar knows about his family's history. Lord knows he's entitled to that but it still hasn't change anything. You want him in, I want him out."

Cloud Runner looked at Maureen with sympathy. The other woman was acting without a doubt, out of love for Russell. But the world was getting more dangerous with more global actors working to bring down civilization and impose a new dark age upon the world, something that she and thousands of others were working overtime to prevent. She needed the best people to carry on the fight when she can no longer be part of it. It was this reasoning that she brought out the last and most effective weapon.

"Rachel would have wanted him to stay in."

Suddenly it was over. The firm ground Parker was standing quickly turned to quicksand. She felt her body sagged under the weight of that name.

"You don't fair," Maureen whispered. She couldn't fight Rachel's memory, not with Jarod. She knew how her rival died in Jarod's arms. Why Rachel died was just as important to Jar. The FBI agent was killed trying to arrest a trio of murderous rapists.

Cloud Runner instinctively wanted to hug Parker upon seeing that face full of pain. Instead, she replied, "I can't afford to, Maureen. Not in these times." She stepped forward and gave an unresisting ex-Red File a quick embrace. "For what it's worth, I'm truly sorry."

She numbly accepted the brief apology. Knowing how devoted Jar was to Rachel, she knew he would stay out of respect for her memory. She felt a bone weary ache as the dream of a quiet life with Jar faded away. Inhaling a deep breath, she stared at the oddly sympathetic spy. "How does it work?" she quietly wanted to know about the Presidential pardon procedure. This was something that didn't really concern her until she was sent away for five years to live in substandard public housing that had free food and health care plus the joys of 24 hour security.

Both sat down and then the DDNI soberly began explaining to a rapt ex-convict what it took to get a Presidential pardon.

Before applying for a pardon, an individual must wait five years after serving prison time or home confinement and must have finished probation or supervised release. The pardon application goes before the Justice Department's "pardon attorney," who reviews hundreds of petitions a year and recommends candidates to the president.

The president can exercise his or her clemency powers at any time, even if the felon hasn't formally applied.

Petitioners must show they've led an upstanding life since their conviction and accepted responsibility for their actions with remorse, according to the Justice Department.

In a pardon petition, the applicant must explain the criminal offense, give employment and residence history and other biographical information, and the reasons for seeking pardon. If the petition succeeds, an official in the pardon attorney's office calls the pardon recipient by phone to convey the good news.

Per the Justice Department, if a case looks promising, the pardon attorney often asks the FBI to conduct a background investigation. Bureau agents collect information by interviewing the applicants and their friends, neighbors and sometimes former teachers and coaches, and assess their reputations in the community. The pardon attorney and deputy attorney general, the No. 2 official in the Justice Department, give a positive or negative recommendation before an application goes to the White House for the president's consideration.

Presidents don't discuss their reasons for issuing pardons, with few exceptions. Nor do they tell petitioners why their wish was granted.

"It will not be easy and I can't promise you that even with me going all out to get you one, we will succeed. But I will tell you this, Maureen, because of what Jarod means to this country, when the time comes, I will be calling in all my markers, IOUs, and favors to get you that pardon. If it comes to it, I still have other cards up my sleeve." Cards like where bodies are literally buried and embarrassing secrets that would be become political kiss of death if they saw the light of day.

A hush came over the room as Cloud Runner wound down. The two women studied at each other. One achieved her goal. The other didn't. Both however still bound together by their need for Jarod.

* * *

**A/N:** Another recreated chapter. A longer one compared to my original chapter if my memory serves me correctly. One more chapter to recreate than we are on to some more of JMP, etc.

Please let me know what you think about this chapter. It was difficult to write with real life intruding and the holidays taking up so much of my time. I hope it makes sense to you and you enjoy reading it.

I hope all my readers had a Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!

Posted on 29 Dec 08.


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

**A/N 1:** Heads up! This chapter is violent. Definitely Rated T.

Chapter 39

_A gesture!_

Several more rocket propelled grenades slammed around his bunker, rocking him as dust fell down from the log and dirt ceiling. Eyes red rimmed from the dirt, dust, and gunsmoke, Jarod took aim and triggered off another burst from his rifle at a screaming armed insurgent. Another haji going to hell instead of paradise.

_A stupid useless gesture!_

They were going to die because of a fucking gesture.

"Where the hell is our air support!" screamed Larry Phomkai as he fired short bursts from his M-240B machine gun. Several Taliban or al-Qaeda, it didn't really matter, dropped from his 7.62mm bullets. But they were rapidly replaced by more screaming doped up Taliban.

"How the hell should I know," shot back Jarod angrily, grunting softly as he triggered off a 40mm grenade from his grenade launcher that was attached to his Mk-17 assault rifle. He hawked and spat out the gritty and dirt encrusted phlegm. There just wasn't time to reach over and sucked desperately needed water out of his camelbak.

This shouldn't be happening right now, Jarod raged, cursing the politicians and the bureaucrats who got them into this clusterfuck. Even as he went through his litany of expletives in several languages, he and his team knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. All four of them hoped it would be later but here they were where the War on Terror collided with the War on Drugs.

Jarod bleakly thought, as he switched out an empty magazine with a fully loaded one into his rifle, that this was a weirdly beautiful place to die. As he, his team, and the rest of the desperate defenders fought to protect their forward operating base from being overrun, the Sun was still struggling to burn through the early morning haze. Its rays fighting to get through the haze to give its life sustaining energy to the vast green fields of poppies that stretched out to the horizon as far as the eye could see wherever one turned to look.

Both he and Larry would spare a second's glance from their Hesco Barrier bunker up at the sky, praying to see the black spots that would augur the arrival of the A-10s, AC-130s, or F-16s coming to pull their asses out of the fire. But nothing showed except the slowly disappearing haze and the vivid blue skies that presaged another scorching day.

Their other teammates, Rich Bagalan and Frank Tauau, were in a similar bunker desperately doing their part to repel the insurgent onslaught.

Jarod's heart was beating like it was going to burst of his chest. The adrenalin was surging through his body and he fought to keep the tremors in his hands and arms from ruining his aim.

His ears were ringing from the cacophony of explosions, bullets flying everywhere, shouts, and the general chaos of a battlefield.

Switching his firing selector to full auto he emptied his magazine into a group of haji that were held up at single strand of barbed wire that the defenders managed to put up before the fighting began.

While swapping out his empty magazine and slapping in another one into his rifle, he drifted back to the beginning of this clusterfuck…

* * *

Jarod's team was among the first to arrive at the hilltop, site of their new forward operating base. It was going to hold an assortment of groups. DEA, ODNI, FBI, US Army, USAID, the local PRT and a few others that were there to start the process of opium eradication. Not one of the agencies was eager to do it here at this time due to manpower and resources constraints. But each agency's senior leadership knew that the politicians wrote their checks and that the politicians, in the midst of another election cycle, wanted to prove to their constituents back home that they were tough on crime.

So here was Jarod and his team at the sharp end of the stick. Pawns for politicians and bureaucrats who was showing proof to the long suffering taxpayer that they were _doing something_ about illegal drugs.

The FOB was still being constructed by the combat engineers. It was so new that it didn't even have a name yet. Right now, Jarod's team was busy helping the engineers unload the pallets of equipment that would quickly turn a churned up spot of land into a rudimentary combat base out in the middle of hostile territory.

Jarod stopped for a momentary break to do a 360 and gazed out at the lush green flora. For a naturalist, it would be verdant fields of _Papaver somniferum._ For the Taliban and al-Qaeda, the plants were worth almost three quarters of a billion dollars. For the junkie, it was the next hit.

Their pre-mission briefings informed the ex-Pretender and his team that this year was going to be another bumper crop just like the last several years.

"Green gold," Tauau observed, spitting out a stream of dark brown tobacco juice onto a boulder. He stood next to Jarod, shielding his eyes from the scorching sunlight, taking in the rippling scenery that surrounded their new base.

"If you're into killing off shit for brains actors and trust fund brats," Jarod pointed out callously, responding to Tauau's remark. "Heroin is it." The poppy fields reminded him, which he didn't want to remember, the stupid attempt at morphine addiction while he was flat on his back at the Chicago area hospital suffering from remorse, grief, and self-hatred for being an unwitting pawn in the Sears Tower atrocity.

In his messed up mental condition, he really thought he could take away the physical and psychic pain by constantly pressing down on the morphine drip stupidly believing that the doctors and nurses wouldn't notice. They did and they took away his chance to forget and not feel anything at all.

Sharing Jarod's dyspeptic opinion, Frank grunted in assent. "We should be thanking them for performing a public health service rather than doing this useless shit."

Assigned together and apart, both of them plus Larry and Rich knew the futility of this eradication project. All four did the world counter drug tour: Southeast Asia's Golden Triangle, Mexico, Colombia, and Nigeria were among the third world countries doing the same thing as they were now doing here. Same old, same old with very little to show for it.

Intercept, disrupt, takedown, and crop eradication/substitution. It was an unpopular assignment among the ODNI agents since nothing seemed to work and an air of futility seemed to hover over every counterdrug mission they were assigned to.

No matter what they do, the drugs always seemed to find its way into America and up someone's nose, lungs, and/or veins.

For all of his gifted brilliance, even Jarod couldn't find a magic bullet solution to the drug problem. He didn't even bother after simulating it several times while imprisoned inside the Centre. The ex-Pretender was to find out after the fall that the customers of his narcotics sims were the very same drug smugglers later turned narco-terrorists that he and his teams were fighting off and on since joining ODNI.

Giving one last gimlet eye at the poppy fields, Jarod pushed his boonie hat further down to shade his eye as he went back to help his team unload the pallets. Behind, the plants gently waved about with the dry wind.

* * *

A long sustained firing grabbed Jarod's attention. He saw Larry urgently holding down the trigger as he simultaneously saw and heard the first generation American's shouted warning, "They're fucking breaking through!"

Jarod let his rifle dropped to hang on its sling as he hurriedly picked up the M-57 firing device also popularly called a "clacker" and triggered it. The device sent an electrical charge down the wire to the M-18A1 Claymore anti-personnel mines daisy chained together. The charge set the mines off sending a cloud of steel balls ripping through the insurgents, killing or wounding them.

The claymores bought them a precious few seconds but both Jarod and Larry realize this was just the first of many waves of insurgents determined to kill the infidels and protect their precious drug crop.

"Hey comes haji again," Jarod yelled out loud, picking up his rifle and began firing burst after burst.

"I got them Russell," began Larry, "over there to the-"

Jarod jerked his head over to find out why Phomkai didn't finish what he was saying. Grief and anger convulsed him as he took in the slumped form of his teammate draped over his machine gun.

Blood and bits of brain matter dripped down underneath Phomkai's kevlar helmet. Jarod saw that the bullet entered underneath his friend's helmet brim. _If only the bullet was just a few millimeters higher…_

Fighting the urge to hold his fallen friend, Jarod rushed over to the fallen Phomkai and hurriedly but gently shoved him aside as he picked up the M-249 and resumed firing, snarling at the seemingly endless supply of hajis coming at him.

As he continued the fight, regret washed over him. Parker. Violently shaking his head, respecting her wish. Maureen. He wished he could go back to the last time they were together and tell her what needed to be said and done between them.

* * *

Brown eyes met blue-gray eyes.

Jarod looked into the deeply concerned eyes of Maureen. She bravely tried to conceal her anxiety but he knew her too well for far too long not to be deceived by her act. Others could be fooled but not him and, by extent, Tim.

Right now, under the backyard patio, Jarod's heart sped up at the understanding that dawned upon him. Maureen cared about _him_. It wasn't the caring that his ex-nemesis put on display when she tended the bruises she inflicted on him after finding out that Momma was raped. This caring was of the same intensity as Rachel would have given him. Some more crumbling and melting happened inside him at this knowledge.

Maureen took in the warmth in Jarod's beguiling brown eye. He understood what she wasn't hiding anymore, not from him, not after all the tribulations both went through to be here at this moment.

"Be careful," she repeated ad infinitum, hating that she sounded like a broken record. It was a mantra she chanted to Jar ever since he tore her world apart when he pulled her aside on that innocent warm day and carefully told her that he was going to be gone for a six to nine month long overseas tour months.

When Jarod broke the news to her, Maureen wanted to rage, cry, beg him not to go but she lived under his roof long enough and knew more than anyone else what kind of man he was that he would go no matter she said or did to convince him otherwise.

Burying the dread that was spreading to the pit of her stomach, she drew upon the steely will that kept her alive at the Centre to asked him where he was going, what was he going to do, how can she keep in touch with him, when will he come home, all without turning into a blubbering mess. She would do that in the privacy of her room once he was out of the house.

Afghanistan was his destination. It added to her distress and the sense of dread that her Inner Sense was whispering into her soul. What little of the news she glimpsed on cable tv and the web about that unfortunate country wasn't good at all. It seemed that things were getting worse rather than better. Now, the man she loved was going to that blighted place and she was helpless in doing anything about it. Neither stopping Jar from going nor being there alongside him to cover his back.

Maureen just got herself back into his life and now he was leaving again. Just like, she feared, everyone she ever loved. All she can see now was Tommy lying there on the front porch of her home, all the warmth and life that initially attracted her to him, gone with the speed of a bullet. Then there was Momma…

It could be Jarod's turn. Catherine's supposed suicide took away her innocence. She barely held it together with Tommy's death. She knew, knew in her heart, that no one could put her back together ever again if she ever lost the love of her life.

Maureen looked at Jarod's scarred but handsome face, burning every feature of him into her mind and heart. From the lines at his mouth, to the scars that ran across his face, to the one remaining hypnotic brown eye that showed the faintest of cracks in his icy wall. She took them all in to remind her of just what she was going to wait for when he came back home safe and sound from that far distant land.

Maureen head snapped down as she felt and then saw Jarod reaching out with both of his hands, real and artificial, to grasp her icy hands. "I will if you promise me not to be consumed by your fears." Seeing that she was about to argue with him, he continued, "I'm not going to lie and say that it's safe over there, it's not. But I don't want you to be paralyzed worrying about me. It's not healthy."

Digesting his words, she expelled a shaky sigh. Looking up at his attentive face, speaking so low that he had to lean forward, "I don't think I can." Her fingers clutched tightly to his, not wanting to let him go, an overwhelming desire to swaddle him from a world that has inflicted more than its share of pain upon him. "This is so new to me. I don't know how to handle it."

The vulnerability in her voice brought out his protective instincts. Jarod let go of her hands and drew her to him. He felt her lithe body pressing against him.

More than anything in this world he wished for was to see Maureen never be hurt ever again. Not by anyone. Yet, here he was hurting her. Jarod reproached himself. It didn't require a simulation to let him know that he should have done more to prepare his best friend for the shock of his deployment.

Rachel understood since his deployments resembled her law enforcement career. Weeks, if not months, away from home. Waking up in strange places, working days with not enough hours in them, to solve a case. But Maureen didn't. Not the intense preparations before Jarod ever left the country. The blizzard of paperwork, the physicals, the vaccinations, the monotonous briefings, and the extensive hands-on training. For her, it was an awful culture shock to sit in on the family briefings, what to do, who to turn to, how to handle a crisis when the usual decision-maker is away.

Tim couldn't be given power of attorney or the other legal requirements that were needed in order to run Jarod's affairs while he was away. He was still under Jarod's guardianship. Rachel would have looked after their friend while he was deploy but she was gone so the empath headed back to the Endowment until Jarod came back for him. His splintered family was still licking wounds that haven't even started healing. Maureen was the only one available.

So he asked and she accepted.

He struggled against his emotions for her. From the time she came back into his life, Parker slowly but surely began to fill in the emptiness that Rachel used to occupy. He loved and still love Rachel. A love that will never die. Maureen, however, was and still remained his first love. Guilt, bewilderment, and desire were a volatile mixture that raged inside him. Now, he was holding her, doing his damnedest to put her at ease, trying not to break heart. This, conscious of it once again, was another turning point for them. Jarod buried his face in her hair, inhaling the heady brew of her unforgettable scent.

"It'll be alright, I won't take any unnecessary risks," he vowed to her. It was the best guarantee he can give her under the circumstances. He won't lie to her, not like that asshole Parker who shredded a once promising life. "I don't do Hollywood heroics," giving her a tender smile and brushing her cheek with the back of his forefinger. "I'll leave that to the overpaid and talentless actors."

"You better," Maureen growled, not liking that image he conjured up in her. Jar, rather he wanted to admit to himself or not, was a hero and did some pretty crazy heroic things like rushing into a catastrophically damaged skyscraper to rescue innocent beings. The scars and the missing body parts were too vivid reminders of his heroism. She didn't want to see any more scars added to his body or lose any more of pieces of him either.

The fire bowl's soft flames accented their faces, making them glow in the summer twilight. The two of them stood frozen, savoring the moment. In the back of both minds was a hard realization that life had a finite span, each second to be enjoyed before time ran out. Jarod's defenses against his best friend were weakening again, leaving very little left to protect him from Maureen's passion. Something that he was slowly warming up to. To taste those delectable lips of hers again and again. She lightly ran her hands up and down the front of his chest, relishing in the masculinity of Jarod, a teaser of what she really wanted. To kiss him, to make love to him, to give him an intimation of what could be between them. Maybe, if a benevolent fate allowed it, more than just the two of them living under the same roof.

However, this turning point didn't go any further. Jarod's defenses, cracked and broken, didn't crumble. Not yet. Maureen's love was tamped by her post-Centre developed caution. She wasn't going to lose him or drive him away again by her fiery temperament, the byproduct of growing up Parker.

So time slowly ticked away as they held each other until the flames of the fire bowl died and the night turned chilly before they unwillingly let go of each other and went inside.

* * *

He should have kissed her. Now, Jarod thought, he might never get that chance again. Sadness ran through his heart but that didn't stop him from holding down the trigger of the M-240B. The belt of 7.62mm bullets quickly disappeared as more Taliban went down from his accurate fire.

That, however, didn't stop them. The bearded turbaned fanatics armed with various versions of the AK-47 worked their way through the gaps in the barbed wire around the clumps of still warm dead bodies.

Jarod saw this in a moment's glance. There was no time to reload the silent smoking machine gun. The smell of cordite hung heavily inside the bunker making Jarod want to cough and gag. The only sound he heard was the heavy pounding of his heart as he grabbed his Mk-17 and the rucksack full of extra magazines and hurriedly stepped out of the bunker and into the morning light.

The one eyed, one armed ex-Pretender scrambled onto the top of the bunker to get a wider angle of fire. Jarod flopped down onto his stomach expelling a breath as the body armor pounded into his bruised torso. He quickly picked his first targets and commenced firing.

Jarod zoned out as he methodically went through the magazines until there was none left. He switched to the grenade launcher firing off the depressingly few remaining grenades. When the last grenade left the launcher, the ex-Pretender, by dint of his relentless training, went for the next one until his brain registered what his right hand was telling him. There were no more grenades left.

The religious fanatics were still coming though in smaller numbers. An eerie calm settled over Jarod as he realized that this was it. No rescue, no reprieve. His amazing streak of good luck finally ended. Jarod remembered the promise that all his teammates and himself made to each other. None of them were going to become prisoners of the Taliban, al-Qaeda, or other Islamic nutjobs and be the star of their own streaming Internet snuff video. None wanted their families to be tortured by the thought of having some haji sawing their heads off live on the web.

Jarod let go of his assault rifle and quickly jumped down from the bunker. The remaining hajis saw him and a large group altered their course to head his way firing their AKs on full auto. Jarod pulled out his Heckler and Koch USP .45 automatic pistol and dropped down onto one knee. Ignoring the whizzing of bullets flying all about him, Jarod quickly centered his sights on the nearest enemy and fired.

His Pretender skills served him well. The marksmanship was at the Olympic level. One bullet. One dead haji. Again his training came into play. He fired and reloaded as he went into his zone again. Until the slide went back on his pistol and he understood that there was no more magazines.

Jarod started to stand up while his right arm was reaching to grasp the Bowie knife out of its sheath when he felt himself flying through the air and landed meters away from where he originally was. His ears were ringing loudly; he coughed hard trying to gulp down precious air into his concussed lungs. His body was numbed and he couldn't moved at all.

He blinked several times to clear his blurry vision. The first thing he saw as he regained his vision was the sharp end of a bayonet as it descended towards him. The last thought to cross his mind was remembering a pretty girl with the most beautiful blue-gray eyes reaching out with her hand towards him…

* * *

**A/N 2:** This is the last of my recreated chapters. I had hoped to finish this novel in Dec 08 but for those who've stay with me so far, know that Microsoft really set me back. Thanks, Mr. Gates!

Definitions:

DEA-Drug Enforcement Agency

ODNI-Office of Director of National Intelligence

FBI-Federal Bureau of Investigation

USAID-US Agency for International Development

PRT-Provincial Reconstruction Team

Hesco Barrier-the latest development in sandbags

Haji-a popular pejorative among members of the US military

Please read and review.

Thank you.

Posted on 1 Feb 2009.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belongs to their respective intellectual property owners.

Ch 40

by

Starclipper01

It was hush inside, as though time took a break and will be back soon. Maureen paused in her steps as the past came alive for her.

Momma dressing her in her Sunday best, the ride in the car watching the world go by while ignoring the quiet chatter of her Momma and Mr. Parker or listening intently when their words got harsh before lapsing into a tense silence as the two adults noticed that she was eavesdropping, then getting out of the car and walking into a world that was spiritual and not temporal.

Maureen remembered how Momma bemoaned the lost of her beloved Latin Mass while Mr. Parker, the asshole, just grunted irritably and looked impatiently at his wristwatch eager to be on his way and far from this anachronistic nonsense.

Straightening herself once more, she headed deeper into the church. It wasn't a famous church nor was it one of the largest. It was just like the local church she and Momma went to.

Sitting down in the first pew she craned her head up to view the figure of Christ occupying the center of the altar. Maureen felt emotions that she thought she purged out of herself after experiencing the indescribable grief and anger right after Momma died.

There were holes in her, large enough for Gregory Parker to sink his manicured claws into. Large enough that "Daddy" exploited ruthlessly, driving away God's presence, Jarod's love, Momma's compassion, and her budding identity.

Holes that she was painfully, lovingly, resolutely determined to fill back in. Now, she was here in a church she scorned under Mr. Parker's noxious sway, led by men like the one she attempted to seduce, filled with the promise of salvation, forgiveness, and redemption.

Maureen sat there not knowing how long time went by as she waited. As people, young and old, in singles, pairs, or groups, strode by her, she ached for a sign or a portent, something that would explain to her why she, driving by this church, made a U-turn and found herself before Christ hanging from His Cross.

A slice of her mind assured herself that it wasn't her becoming "born-again". She was far from that state of being. The tall woman shoulders sagged slightly as she began to get discouraged. It was driving her up the wall trying to divine why she was here at this time when she was gone for several lifetimes away from a place such as this. Maureen believed she didn't belong here. She was a fallen woman, not worthy of being in a holy church.

But Maureen wasn't a quitter though. Never have, never will. So she sat there, doing her best to ignore the annoying question of why and just let her thoughts drift to wherever her mind and heart took her.

A smile began then broadened as a devilish thought came to her. Maureen raised her right hand to cover her ear to ear smile while also biting down on her tongue just enough to prevent from roaring out loud in delighted laughter.

A wicked visage of her dressed as a naughty Catholic schoolgirl with a skintight blouse, a black tie, and plaid miniskirt wearing knee high stockings captivated her imagination. The gleeful brunette immediately decided that she had to do it. Have her photographer take pictures of her attired just like she just imagined it right now. Oh, how she wished that she could see Jar's face when he opened up the envelope and look at them for the first time. Who knows, she speculated, it might be the opener for something more physical…

The photographer she had in mind was the same one who took the pictures that she sent to Jar with the droll reminder of what exactly he was fighting for. The woman who took those lad mags type photos was a former inmate from the same federal prison that Maureen served her time in. Unlike Maureen who was convicted of smuggling illegal aliens into the country, the willowy honey blonde, Linda was her name, was convicted of tax evasion for running a high price call girl ring that catered exclusively to very wealthy lesbians and bisexual women. Like Al Capone, Maureen's acquaintance was caught, not for her crimes, but for not reporting income and evading paying of income taxes.

Maureen smile turned crooked as some of her prison memories surfaced once again. Linda was a committed lesbian and made several aggressive moves on her during her first weeks in prison. Outside the prison walls, some might have called them attempted rapes. But inside, it was life as usual.

A prison with its thousands of prisoners, as well as guards, was a community with its own sets of rules, both written and unwritten, that one must navigate through if one was to live to see another day and to make the unrelenting monotony of the days go by a little bit faster.

Jarod's current best friend forever would quickly discover this. There were the gangs based on skin color, criminals grouped together based on what crimes they'd committed, the haves and have nots, the weak preyed upon by the stronger, white collar criminals, blue collar criminals, your looks and appearances. Maureen was a quick learner, an observer that can grasp situations rapidly in order to make life and death decisions. The Centre made her that way which she put to use when that unpleasant woman groped her breasts and vagina, trying to force her tongue down Maureen's throat, among other physical harassments. The brunette uneasily rubbed her arms with her freezing hands as she recalled telling herself how lucky she was that wasn't gang raped by Linda's followers.

Finally, it boiled over in the prison library. The ex-madam trailed Maureen into the library where, ignoring everyone else, she attempted once again to kiss the very attractive Red File on the mouth.

Maureen didn't want to go back into disciplinary segregation but it looked like there was no other choice. From her hellish Centre experience, she had to show everyone who was the alpha female.

The call girl was surprised but please when Maureen responded with an open-mouthed kiss. She quickly slipped her tongue into the prized brunette's mouth. For a few seconds, the lesbian thoroughly enjoyed the heady taste of Miss Parker. Until the fucking terrorist bitch bit down hard on her probing tongue.

Rearing her head and attempting to scream, which she tried to, but the old style Miss Parker still had a tight grip on tongue, she flailed her arms and legs attempting to force Parker to let go.

Maureen eyes hardened as she remembered that she didn't. Not until she was damn good and ready. Once she saw the other inmates scrambling away from the clashing duo and watching them with calculating or predatory expressions, only then did she let go.

The enraged blonde was trying to figure out how badly her tongue was injured and simultaneously lashing out at the alert brunette. Both actions weren't completed when Maureen landed punches and blows on the lesbian. The former Centre operative didn't hold back nor showed any mercy. Her current living arrangements deeply frowned on those kinds of feelings and her friendly neighbors would take careful note if she did.

As soon as it started it was quickly broken up by the guards. They weren't very particular about being nice to Parker or the ex-madam. Lying down with her face pressed hard into the cheap linoleum floor, Maureen let one brief muffled whimper as soon as she overheard the guard supervisor ordering both be sent to disciplinary segregation. The Goon Squad and she were going to have another one of their unforgettable get-togethers.

It was a juggling act, submissive and obedient before the presence of her guards, domineering and imperious among her fellow inmates. The beatings by the Goon Squad left their marks on her. So far, Jar and Dr. Tushar, didn't ask or shine lights into this dark corner of her psyche for which she was acutely pleased. She hoped that it would stay this way for a very, very long time.

Shifting uncomfortably on the hardwood pew, Maureen's eyes still stay focused on Christ's torment on the Cross. An inkling began fermenting on why she needed to back in the religion of her childhood.

Thirty days passed in isolation, interrupted by four hard brutal lessons meted out by the unforgiving Goon Squad, before she was released back into the general population. A wary respect by the rest of the prisoners gave Maureen some breathing space and time to place herself at the top of the pecking order.

Linda and her followers were an immediate problem that had to be fixed right away. The ex-Centre operative knew how tiring and draining it can be to be constantly watching over her shoulders much less the showers. Maureen reflexively clenched her hands sitting in the pew as she fought hard not to go that dark corner of her mind. She was present for far too many times to pretend that nothing went on in those showers.

Maureen stalked down Linda who was off by one of the basketball courts. The blonde was still having trouble talking past a tongue that Parker nearly bit off. The library fight cost her some of her supporters. So it was that when Maureen showed up, the former madam had only three others with her.

Animosity radiated off from the four women who glared at Parker as she stopped before them. She didn't flinch nor did she look away. That would have ruined the image she was set on projecting. She was laying the groundwork for surviving the next five years in a very hostile environment. Maureen was set on forming an alliance of convenience between her and the purveyor of womanly flesh with her as the top alpha dog; chuckling to herself, more like bitch. Survival trumped any squeamish second thoughts or recognizing differences between right and wrong.

Her abnormal Centre life's history gave her the necessary skill sets to control, manipulate, and played with the emotions of the four women before her. But her skills were focused on Linda. Where Linda goes, Parker understood, the others would follow.

_Daddy_ would have been beaming with pride, maybe finally voiced aloud what Maureen desperately craved since she was an innocent virginal girl. He was _proud_ of her, of how she skillfully exploited the fears, weaknesses, and uncertainties of Linda's gang. Make that Parker's gang, Linda unenthusiastically assuming second place. All it took was about an hour and half's work. It was a breeze for a prized ex-Red File who had to navigate the insanities, lethalness, and threats of Daddy, Raines, Lyle, the Centre, the Tower, and the Triumvirate.

Between stints in disciplinary segregation, Maureen soaked up what she learned about her followers, from what they revealed and what snippets she coaxed out of her guards. Linda, aside from pimping, was an art photography major in college. It was her attempts to pay for her very expensive tuition that she fell into world of high class prostitution. Seeing how much money she was raking in, she eventually dropped out of college and gone into business.

Maureen kept in touch with Linda after they were both released. The blonde was released a couple of years earlier than Maureen. It was her that the brunette turned to for Jarod's surprise gift.

She knew that Linda was back in the skin trade, only this time it was all legitimate. Running her own adult website, the blonde was raking in the bucks with streaming videos, live webcam chats, and pictures; all for a price, of course.

Calling to mind Linda's job pitch, a slight blush rose in her cheeks. _You got one fine body, Parker. Think of all the benjamins you could make if you sign with me. _Maureen could have been the website's top attraction if she accepted. She knew Linda still had the hots for her even though both understood Maureen was straight and in love with a certain Pretender. She politely declined.

Letting herself sink back into the pew and sliding forward just enough for her head to rest on the back of the bench, the contemplative figure crossed her arms and vented a long but silent sigh. The incongruous recollection of Linda, her imprisonment, here in a place where fleshy and carnal delights were least welcome made her aware once more of why she was drawn here.

It was lonely now that Jar was in Afghanistan. Rubbing her face wearily, she knew that she was fortunate to know where her man was. For the vast majority of families, they weren't so lucky. The world of special operations and clandestine service jealously guarded its secrets. There were periods as long as months where the spouse and children wouldn't know where their mate and parent were let alone whether he or she was still alive.

Maureen raised her head, her blue-gray eyes resting on the Cross and Christ. It caught her unawares while looking at Him. It was the gnawing fear of the unknown, of Jarod's safety, of how he would return home to her that drove her here. At least part of the reason. There was still something else that she could feel lurking beneath her surface emotions. Something that wanted to erupt from inside her and see the light of day, or in this case, the light of God.

Her lips trembled and her eyes had tears slowly pooling at the corners as she unwilling brought up what she overheard after Jarod left from NAS Oceana. It was a callous remark not meant for her or the friends and relatives who were slowly walking back to their cars or taxis.

It was a stroke of bad luck that she was behind one of the support columns with two large concrete planters next to it, with each holding clumps of ferns, effectively hiding her. Four men, also on their way out to the terminal's parking lot and who must have been veterans of the Sandbox, muttered among themselves that those recently departed operatives like Jarod will come home in an airplane. Only how? Would it be the passenger compartment or the cargo compartment that they would leave the airplane?

Unnoticed by the men as they left, Maureen let out a muffled cry of distress. She rushed out the terminal's door and made it home successfully. It was only when she was in the haven of her bedroom did she slumped down onto the carpeted floor and had her meltdown. Her chest heaving, sobs spilling down her cheeks, knees drawn in tight, the words of those men bouncing around inside her head. Squeezing her eyes tightly, hysterically wishing away images of seeing Jarod being taken out of an airplane's cargo door.

Timmy found her like that hours later after spending most of the day at the zoo. He'd been to previous departures but this one he stayed away. Flashing a comforting smile he explained to a plainly curious Maureen that three was a crowd. Maureen hugged him as she sagged in relief. She wasn't sure how she was going to broach the subject with her empath friend without hurting his feelings. Of how desperately she wanted to spend as much time with Jar as possible without Timmy around or anyone else for that matter.

The former Miss Parker felt the crashing of knees as her head and shoulders were lifted and placed in her friend's lap. In gasps broken only by sharp sounds of pain, she brokenly told Timmy the overheard comment and what it triggered inside her. Day turned into night as the two old friends, like days of old, sought refuge and comfort with each other.

Standing up, adjusting her clothes, Maureen walked purposefully until she was before the figure of Christ. Giving another look at Him, she glanced down at the lighted votive candles. Another ritual she and Momma did together. Lighting one and praying together before the icon of a saint, seeking his intercession with God for someone's good health, getting more funding for medical research, or helping people like Daddy to become better persons. Now, strengthened by those childhood memories and succored by Momma's everlasting faith, she lighted one of the candles and, for the first time since Momma's death, prayed with the belief of a believer, not the lip service of Gregory Parker which she aped for far too long.

"God, please protect Jarod. Don't let any harm come to him. He has suffered enough in his life. Let him come home safe and sound to those who love him and care for him. Amen." She made the sign of the Cross then stepped away.

Maureen walked down the aisle. A bitter smile caused her eyes to narrow as another walk down the aisle crept into her mind's eye. The tiny hot flicker of anger flared anew at the Centre and herself for taking away that opportunity. The bitterness morphed into a pensive face. _Someday, Jarod and I…

* * *

_

**A/N:** This is the first of a three part arc exploring Miss Parker's Catholicism and spirituality. One thing that Steve and Craig did was to show the Church in a good light with priests who weren't either child molesters or lotharios and shown doing good deeds.

From the show, it seemed the Church left a deep impression upon our Miss Parker but not enough since the Centre always came out on top. Now, with it gone, let's see where the Church comes into play.

Yes, this arc is a tangent but this was always part of my plot.

Definitions-

NAS: Naval Air Station

Sandbox: Iraq, Afghanistan, anywhere in the Middle East. A US military slang.

Please read and review.

Posted on 11 May 09


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belongs to their respective intellectual property owners.

Ch 41

by

Starclipper01

Father Moore, aged but still active, never hesitated in doing both the Lord's work as well as the Church's. When given the opportunity to gather a stray sheep back to the flock, he jumped at it with alacrity.

Maureen Greene, her new surname surprising the hell out of Father Moore, stood up along with the rest of the congregation. The retired white haired confessor for Catherine Parker was standing right next to her while Timmy was beside her on the left. Relaxed, as much as she could for her first serious mass since Momma left her, she joined with her fellow congregants and confessed that they have sinned. Following that admission, everyone then solemnly asked, "Mary ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to God our Lord."

A feeling of belonging, a sense of return permeated her. Maureen's heart leapt with gratitude for Timmy, Father Moore, Syd, Jarod, and even that shrink, Tushar for helping her, guiding her, encouraging her to overcome the demons, the fears, and the scars that left their indelible marks on her.

Maureen returned her attention as Father Moore, Timmy, and the rest of the packed church recited the Kyrie: "Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy." Having completed the prayer, she along with the others then joined in with the choir singing the Gloria, a prayer begun with "Glory to God in the highest!"

As the voices of the men, women, and children faded away, the flock shuffled, coughed, typical noises associated with a large group as everyone sat down. Maureen felt a tap on her arm. Father Moore nodded approvingly at the layman who began reading from the Old Testament.

Watching the elderly cleric with more than a touch of fondness, she remembered this kind and caring man when his hair wasn't white and there wasn't a hint of wrinkles on a face that can be read like a book.

A good friend for Momma, a better counsel for her. It was he who reinforced Momma's resolve to do the right thing by the children of the Centre, his absolute faith shared by her devoted mother who asked that she do good works and to protect the weak and the abused.

The phrase that she used to put down Jar applied just as well to her second closest friend and Father Moore. They, she was sure, can look St. Peter in the eye and confidently tell the saint that they did their part, made a good difference for those who were less advantaged and be allowed to enter Heaven.

Maureen blinked as Timmy scooted forward as the next layperson, a woman this time, began reading from Psalm 63. It was prescient and apt for her desire to return to the fold. She reached over to take Father Moore's hand. He patted her hand in return acknowledging the import of the Psalm to her.

They, along with Timmy watched the woman be replaced by a young teenage boy who haltingly began the second reading from the New Testament, specifically John 3:15-16, 18-19, 36. The boy's voice grew calmer, more assertive as he continued reading. It was about faith. In her mind, it was just another poignant gesture of following in Catherine's footsteps. It could be taken by others as aping a long dead woman, but she was doing it of her own accord, something she wanted to do.

Jarod's leaving was the final spur to push her to go, to come here. In the end, it was always her and Jarod. Their lives were intertwined, fated since their births to be linked together forever. Something she didn't object to at all. Something she knew with all her heart and soul.

Now, everyone rose and sang out "Alleluia". They remained standing as the third reading started. The young laygirl chosen for this read aloud from Matthew 6:25-34. It was about not worrying and to trust in God. It was hard for Maureen to swallow because of Jar. She couldn't stop worrying about him and what will become of them. Her future was still unsettled and this reading didn't ease them at all.

All the congregants resumed their seats as the priest started in on the homily. His sermon was strong and forceful. Throughout this Maureen would occasionally agreed or disagreed, reached out to squeeze Timmy's hand, or check up on the aging Father Moore out of the corner of her eye.

Once more, everyone in the church rose and recited the Nicene Creed. Maureen was ruefully reminded of the rising and sitting of a Catholic Mass by her sore knees. Sighing very quietly so as not to catch either Timmy's or Father Moore's attention, she wondered how quickly time flies. It felt just like a short while ago that she was in Mass with "Daddy".

The latest in the line of laypersons replaced the priest and began prayers for the Pope, victims of recent disasters, for the seriously ill family members of the congregations, and for Jarod. Maureen felt her friends head swiveled towards her when both men heard Jar's name. She acknowledged their unvoiced question with a nod of her head. Her brown mane floating gently up and down with the motion.

The collection started. Maureen dropped in two $50 dollar bills for both herself and Timmy. Father Moore gave his monetary donation. As the followers put in whatever they could afford, their priest brought the wine and bread to the altar.

Having completed the collection, as one every person knelt while their priest blessed the wine and bread. Now the Holy Spirit infused them and turned the wine and bread into the blood and body of Christ. The Transubstantiation was done and everyone stood up again.

Maureen discreetly put her head to Timmy's ear and spoke softly to him, "How are your knees?"

Decades crawling through the Centre's vents have taken their toll on her empath friend's knees. Fortunately, Jar got them replaced after several doctors confirmed his initial suspicions that Timmy's were beyond repair.

Timmy, careful not to interrupt the service, also whispered. "I'm fine. They're not hurting me." He followed up with a squeeze of her hand. Maureen smiled at him, feeling at ease. She was happy that her second oldest friend came along. Unsure, at first, on how he would respond to her invitation to accompany her to Mass with Father Moore, she was prepared for Timmy to decline but when he said yes, she was relieved. She didn't want to be alone when she was psyching herself up to come back to a place she scorned and turned her back on for most of her adult life.

Coming to her first Mass, since the last one with Momma, which she treated seriously rather than sneering or mocking it, she needed companions that can be there for her in case she did or say something untoward.

Her blue-gray eyes darkened when she recalled memories of the day when she was shown by Juana Cloud Runner, the remorseless documents that it was another part of Mr. Parker's ruthless and remorseless scheme to knock away all of her childhood support structure and mold her into the new Centre woman.

Unbidden, she looked up at the crucifix. _Who are you?_, she demanded of the dead man who profoundly influenced for the majority of her life. _Who made you God to have that kind of power? Why did you do what you did to me and all those innocent victims?_

There was no answer. She doubted that there ever will be one that will satisfy her. Gregory Parker took some secrets with him to hell and there won't be a reckoning between her and the manipulative, deceitful, and tyrannical bastard.

Distracted by her thoughts, Maureen hurriedly stood up to sing along with the rest of the churchgoers, the prayer known as the Sanctus. The words were familiar though it felt strange to sing it aloud after several decades of atrophy. "Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might..." it began.

What followed next was the Lord's Prayer. A prayer that Momma loved the most, Maureen mulled over as her voice fell silent in the middle of reciting it. Thankfully, her two companions left her in peace as the pain of Momma's loss throbbed in her heart.

The Church filled such a big role in her mother's life and its teachings never left her even in the Centre's heart of darkness. Maureen's brow wrinkled in newly discovered consternation. Was she switching from seeking Mr. Parker's approval to Momma's now? Is this what this was? Or, was coming to church of her own volition? Truly her choice, not for Momma or Mr. Parker.

Her distress caught Timmy's attention. He regarded her with concerned eyes. "What happened?"

Maureen shot him a rictus that passed for a smile. Softly, in order not to disturb the other parishioners, she told him, "I'll explain later." Timmy, her spiritual brother, was the only other person whom she can trust when she decided to bare her soul. This gnawing uncertainty that she was set on pleasing the other authority figure in her messed up life rather than for herself needed an outlet. Timmy, by sheer necessity and being right here with her, just got volunteered for hearing the turmoil that churned beneath the shining surface.

Once the Lord's Prayer was finished, the entire congregation gave each other a sign of peace. For Timmy, new to this, he copied what Maureen did. He hugged the elderly woman who sat next to him opposite of Maureen. Because he was hugging her, he missed the surprised shock on the woman's face. The old Miss Parker would've put in a snide remark right now, but she was gone and now, Maureen smiled comfortingly at the woman. "This is his first time inside our Church." Relieved at her assurance, the old lady gingerly returned Timmy's hug.

Father Moore didn't go into hugs or kisses as some of the more liberal parishes allowed. He was of the old school and it showed when he bowed towards Maureen. She returned his bow, then turning towards her old friend, gave Timmy a hug.

Peace, for Maureen, didn't come easily for her. Peace with her ghosts, demons, and haunted past haven't been laid to rest. Yet, this gesture, expected from her Church, put her several strides forward away from that horrid past and helping with her reclamation project.

A smile bloomed on her face as she conjured up that term. Indeed, it was a reclamation project. She was going to move forward and live the life that she should have lived. A life that the Centre cut short and deprived her of. Deprived her of Momma, Jarod, Faith, Timmy, Tommy…

The list was depressingly long and filled with more of the dead than of the living.

Her smiled turned pensive as she knelt along with the rest of the congregation. Wrapping her left arm around Timmy's broad shoulders, she paid close attention to the priest as he broke the bread and ate a piece of it. The Holy Eucharist has begun.

She knew what was going to happen next. Rising back to her feet, she gently turned Timmy so that he was facing the aisle. Slowly and patiently, the three lined up with all of the parishioners awaiting their turn to receive the bread.

Maureen accepted the bread from the priest when it was her turn. The bread which was now the body of Christ. After eating it, by rote, the brunette made the sign of the Cross.

She made sure Timmy didn't stumble or faltered as he accepted his piece of bread. Maureen nodded approvingly as her friend flawlessly carried out the ceremony.

After the last parishioner completed the Holy Eucharist, the priest proceeded to bless his congregation. With that, the Mass was over.

As they stood outside of the church, off to the side waiting for the rest of the congregation to leave and avoid the crush of cars leaving the church parking lot, Parker was quiet until she heard the priest's words. "So what do you think, young lady?" queried the curious Father Moore. He still couldn't believe how remarkably she looked like Catherine, bless her soul, he thought.

"The Church?" she asked of him, seeking a delay to his answer. "It's a nice one. Different from the one Momma and I used to go to." She knew exactly what he was inquiring about.

The retired priest wasn't fooled however. A lifetime of tending to souls who fell preyed to weaknesses, vices, and temptations turned him into a well-oiled lie detector. "No, lass. I was asking about the Mass."

Waiting patiently until Parker formed an answer that could pass his muster, Father Moore couldn't help feeling the joy inside him as he watched her. Aye, she looked just like her mother. But he was observant, as was expected of a member of Society of Jesus better known to the world as the Jesuits, that underneath the physical similarities between mother and daughter lay a scourged soul. A soul that concerned him. A feeling shared by that young man, Jarod. Another whose soul was damaged by all the tragedies and suffering that the evil which called itself the Centre put them through.

The joy he felt was leavened with compassion for the spirited young girl who absurdly insisted that she be called Miss Parker. His alert eyes softened as Jesus' parable of the prodigal son came to mind. Maureen was coming back to the bosom of the Church. The very Church that she angrily left after blaming it, God, and Jesus for taking away her mother. The final act of this tempest was her intentional and knowing attempt at seducing a young priest in training.

Father Moore could still remember exactly where he was and what he was doing when he heard the news of the attempted seduction. He was in the vestry of Georgetown University's Dahlgren Chapel of the Sacred Heart preparing for his Sunday sermon when a tight-lipped nun handed him a note.

Opening and reading the note, he immediately saw why she reacted the way she did. He prayed for Miss Parker while also squelching the impulse to snarl out some old fashioned Irish curses that he heard from his papa and his older brothers growing up. Past the shock, came an immense sadness and disappointment.

If only Catherine was alive and Mr. Parker a better man, he prayed that night before going to bed, Miss Parker would never had descended to commit such immoral acts like seducing a priest and living a wanton lifestyle.

Another symptom of the unhealed wounds of her mother's death. Lashing out at the Church, a predominant factor in both mother and daughter's lives, fueled in part by lies and untruths by Mr. Parker. While only God could judge every soul, Father Moore would, admittedly, be very surprised to see Mr. Parker in heaven.

Maureen tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Giving the priest a wary expression, she circumspectly answered him. "I find that I miss it. I forgot how much I miss it." She wasn't going to delve further into her spiritual issues just now. Right now, she was dipping her toe into the water, seeing if it was going to scald her with more regrets.

Father Moore patted her shoulder comfortingly, "Then come every week, Maureen. You have the time now."

The intimation wasn't lost on her. Walking through the now emptied parking lot, she agreed with her priest's sharp statement that she got too much time on her hands. Working herself into a frenzy over Jar. Worrying about her Pretender, imagining the worst that could happen to him. Checking her email in-box every other minute hoping for a missive from her man, eagerly anticipating the rare satellite phone calls from wherever he was in Afghanistan, or the even rarer webcam chats where she could examine with her own critical eyes how Jarod was holding up under the stresses of war.

Placing her hand on the rear passenger door just as the old man was opening it, she got his attention. "I'll come, Father. But on my schedule." A shaky smile fleeted across her taut face. Father Moore was riveted by the emotions displayed in her fathomless eyes. "I remember the prodigal son. Just wait, be patient." She was honest with him. Maureen wasn't sure if she was up to going to Mass each week. Not after all those angry words several lifetimes ago or the notches in her figurative bedpost signifying how many seminarians she introduced to fleshly delights.

Her God and church preached forgiveness but she flatly wondered if she can ever forgive herself for the humiliating and degrading things she did to them. It wasn't only degrading and humiliating to them but for her. With the clarity of hindsight, she grasped that they also applied to her.

The woman that she could have been would never have conceived of seducing novice priests, walk away from her religion, or be angry and bitter at a God she believed failed in protecting Momma and letting her down.

Father Moore, a charitable cast to his face, told her, "When you're ready, we'll be here with open arms." He continued, "I will be with you, Maureen, if you want me. You will not be alone on this journey home."

"Thank you, Father, for understanding and being there for me." She smiled gratefully at him. There was no pressure on her which was something she was prepared to resist.

Seeing Timmy, her rock, standing right by her, since coming to Mass, waiting silently for her next move, Maureen opened the door for the priest. "Gentlemen, let's get some lunch."

* * *

**A/N:** This is the second of my three-part arc examining Miss Parker's return to her church. Some readers may not be comfortable with this but watching the series, the Church was always hovering in the background. I couldn't resist nor ignore this facet of Miss Parker's life.

For those Catholics who are reading this arc, I hope I got the church rites and ceremonies correctly.

Lastly, my thanks to my friend, Derwin M., a profic and published author, for help with the Catholic Mass and rituals.

Please read and review. Thanks

Posted 13 June 2009.


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belongs to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 42

by

starclipper01

It was her turn now. Maureen stilled her restless fingers and gulping down a deep breath, she stepped into the confessional.

Inside the darkened booth, she immediately rested her knees on the kneeler. She peered through the latticework. The screen was still closed. The fidgety woman let out an irritated and impatient snort. Just her luck that the priest was tending to another sinner on the other side.

Swallowing her irritation, Maureen leaned back and crossed her arms. Shaking her head, she scolded herself. _This is what you get for working yourself into a tizzy, you idiot._

In the gloomy confessional, she repeatedly peered at her wristwatch wondering what was keeping the priest. It didn't help her temper any that the kneeler wasn't padded very well and her knees were starting to protest the punishment they were being subjected to.

Her internal catalog of complaints sputtered to a halt when the screen to her side of the confessional slowly squeaked open. Though out of practice for almost three decades, she still knew, by rote, what she had to say as well as what to do. Crossing herself, she said to him, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned." _An understatement if there ever was one._ "It has been over thirty years since I last confessed." Maureen didn't need to see the priest to know that he was taken aback at her candid admission.

Prior to entering the confessional Maureen spent a lot of time reflecting on what sins she committed. It didn't surprise her that with her newly recovered conscience, it brought a lot of dismay; there were a much too long catalog of misdeeds that needed forgiveness. Penance was definitely something in the works. She braced herself for whatever the priest thought up for her penance.

"I have done so many mortal sins really, that I'm sure that I can't cover them all with the time I have."

Recovering from his dismay, the faceless priest gently assured her, "Don't worry about the time. Please go ahead."

Relieved, Maureen began, "I lost my mother when I was a child. I heard the shot that killed her, Father. I was told that she committed suicide." That bastard Parker started her journey to this confessional with that lie. "The man whom I believed to be my father told me that Momma was in Hell because of that. He said I should be angry at God and the Church for condemning her to that place." She shifted on the kneeler then added, "It was only much later that I found out that Momma faked her suicide."

"You were angry?" It came out of the priest's voice more of a statement than an actual question.

The former Miss Parker squirmed uncomfortably on the kneeler as she shamefacedly answered, "Yes, I did. I followed his advice because at the time I believed him to be my father." Sighing heavily as she decided to spill it all. "I was also so very angry at Momma for leaving me, for doing that to me."

"Are you still angry even though it is a mortal sin to hate our God and Jesus, as well as our Church?"

Maureen shrugged her shoulders. "Yes and no, Father. I don't hate God or the Church anymore. The same with Momma." Plying her slender fingers through her long brown tresses, she added to him, "My psychotherapist has been helping me sort out these issues. Getting to the root of my anger issues. Plus, I've learned." _Learned all the truths now courtesy of Jar._

The brunette fell silent and the priest picked up on who she left out. "I'm pleased that you sought out help. But now, what about your father? Pardon me, the man you believe to be your father."

A twisted smile marred her face. "I still hate him but my shrink and I are dealing with him."

"That's good to know. But still, for your immortal soul you must find it in your heart to forgive him. That is one of our fundamental teachings. Read Matthew 6:14-15. It will help you gain the strength to forgive him."

Maureen liked the anonymity that the confessional booth offered so the priest wouldn't recognize her in the future. That's why she revealed something from past without being too specific. "Under other circumstances, Father, I might have but he was once a high ranking member of the Centre." She paused a moment to let that revelation to sink in. "You do remember what kind of evil they did to people?"

A long silence ensued as her confessor absorbed her disclosure. "Sadly, I do. The Centre is something that I wish was just nothing but a nightmare."

"So do I, Father. But it was real and I was part of that evil. I'd committed so many mortal sins for them." The shame and guilt overwhelmed her. Maureen's throat tightened and a line of tears slowly began to trickle down her high cheeks. She had to force the words out. "I…they…there was a boy that they kidnapped…" it was so hard to talk about it, "it was love at first sight…"

"Calm yourself, child," the priest had to intervene since he couldn't follow her rambling. "Take some deep breaths and try again."

When the request for this special confession was received he immediately assumed it was another of those sex related confessions. Venal sin yes not mortal sin. The previous confession involving a drunken young man, guilt stricken of course, who couldn't remember how he wound up in a strange woman's bed buck naked. But mentioning the Centre, a chill went down his spine. This confession was not something a local parish priest was used to hearing. He hoped he was up to the task the woman was laying upon him.

Maureen blew her nose and rubbed her bleary eyes. She knew it was hard but didn't fully appreciate how extremely hard it was to confront the sins she committed over the years. It was totally different from her sessions with Dr. Tushar. That was medical. This was her soul. And her faith which she was determined to rekindle.

She wanted Jarod to be proud of her, just like he was of Rachel. She can never ever forget the look of love in his eyes every time he talked about her. The pride, affection, and devotion. Once again, Maureen wondered how she could ever compete against Rachel. That thought was always followed by the same feeling. Perseverance. In spite of the odds set before her, she wasn't about to give up. Not when it came to her favorite pretender.

"Are you ready to resume?" She started at the priest's melodious voice causing her to rein in her churning emotions.

Biting her lip and giving a nod that he couldn't see, she started over. "It was love at first sight when I was introduced to Jar," Maureen used her favorite and only nickname for Jarod out of deference for his privacy and his occupation, "not knowing that he was a slave held inside the Centre."

"Are you certain that it was slavery, not something else?" the priest probed, curious at her description of her paramour.

"What else do you call it when you're held against your will and considered the property of the Centre?" Maureen's ire was up which clashed with her guilt. "When he achieved his freedom by escaping, I was the one…I was the one chosen to bring him back."

"A slave hunter? To bring back a free man back into bondage and fettered in chains?" The priest's melodious turned conspicuously hard. "That is something that this Church has stood against for a very long time and has never compromised its position at all."

Maureen gulped hard, stirring uneasily on her kneeler. "I know, Father. I also know that it was a mortal sin." A breath out. "The only consolation is that I never captured him. I'm grateful to God for that."

The priest gave voice to his curiosity. "How does he feel about you now? Did he ever forgive you for being in charge of his recapture?"

"I…yes…no…I mean…" Maureen faltered as her thoughts screeched to a halt. She never asked and he never told her if he ever forgiven her for their "you run, I chase" years. They were still tiptoeing around all the potential minefields that their dyspeptic lives have created.

The priest's stern voice echoed around the confessional, "Ask him for your forgiveness." His exhortation filled in the silence as Maureen struggled to give voice to what she was feeling. "Whether he does or not will be up to him but you will have done your part."

Licking dry lips, Maureen assented but added, "I only recently told him that I pretended to capture him near the end. By that time, I just couldn't ignore anymore what was going on around me. Not after they murdered Tommy."

"And who was Tommy?"

His words brought forth vivid images of Thomas Gates as they flashed across her mind's eye. His eyes, the gentleness, the dimple that always appeared when he smiled at her…

Squeezing her eyes shut at those bittersweet memories as well as the feelings that accompanied them, Maureen pressed her hands to her mouth. Opening her eyes as she got her turbulent emotions under control, she forced out a carefully controlled answer. "A man I loved. Someone at a point in my life that I believe I might have created a wonderful future together."

Maureen sensed that the priest shifted around in his chair. She had that kind of effect on people. She cultivated it as part of her survival mechanism in putting people off balance and kept at a disadvantage. Now, she just wished it would go away, washed away along with all the detritus of the Centre and its horrid tentacles.

His voice was closer to the latticework so Maureen could hear quite clearly his next question. "Did you ever found out why he was murdered?"

Gasps which could be mistaken for laughter poured forth out of her. "He wanted to make me happy." The spiritually deprived woman shook her head at the absurdity of it. "His life taken away because he just wanted me happy."

Silence. Then she heard him clear his throat. "Then those who ordered an innocent man's death will face the Lord's judgment. Righteousness and justice will be rendered for them and for Tommy. I will say a prayer for him and express my sorrow that you lost him." Maureen could hear his cassock rustling through the grate as he continued, "Do you realize what you did in the aftermath of Tommy's death?

Maureen replied, "Thank you, Father for your kind words." Then creasing her face in askance, she said to him, "I don't know what you mean by that."

The faceless man answered her in an authoritative tone, "First, you chose not to bring a free man, another innocent man, from being fettered again in chains of bondage and, secondly, you can still recognize the difference between good and evil and chosen to do what was right."

"But," put in Maureen before he could press further. "There's always a but."

"No buts, child. Though I know there's more that you will add in this confession of yours. Am I correct?"

Sight unseen to him, Maureen nodded her head. "You're right." Thankful for what little of the cushioning of her kneeler afforded her, she shifted once more upon it as the soon-to-be unlapsed Catholic gathered her thoughts. "Is it a mortal sin for me to be jealous of a dead woman, Father?"

"Why would you be jealous of a woman who is dead? Who was she?" The priest clutched at the Cross that hung from his neck. Eyebrows arching he opined to himself that this was turning out to be a very interesting confession.

"Rachel was Jar's wife. He married her after I was convicted and imprisoned." An irrational surge of heated jealousy rippled through her body at the thought of that long ago turning point.

The priest mulled over her words. Then he spoke, "I presume that you wanted him to marry you rather than Rachel? Why didn't you? What prevented you from being together with him rather than this woman?"

Embarrassment, guilt, and contrition collided inside her soul. Maureen hands turned into fists upon hearing those innocent questions. "It's complicated, Father," she said, speaking in a low voice.

"Why would it be complicated? Did he return your love? Did he know that you love him?"

Another bout of tears formed and trickled down her high cheeks. Lips began to tremble. "Jar always loved me, ever since we were children," she said in an agonized whisper, explaining their blighted past to the hidden priest. "But," heaving a deep breath, "we were separated by my fake father, when we were teenagers. He turned me against Jarod." Brushing some of the tears away, she went on achingly, "He always believed I loved him but when I started chasing him, I didn't or deluded myself into thinking that I didn't. But near the end, right before the Centre fell, I finally admitted my love for him but I had to lie to him about loving him in order to protect him. I pushed him away right into Rachel's eager arms."

It was definitely complicated, he remarked to himself. A moment was given to his earlier blithe comment about telling her to take her time. Now he regretted uttering that since he had a strong feeling that this was going to be a long confession. "How long were they married? How did Rachel die?"

"They were married only for a few years," answered Maureen. Her tears slowly stopped. "Then she was killed in a shootout between her FBI team and three serial rapists." Maureen wiped her nose with a kleenex from her purse. "I guess I'm jealous because Rachel lived an admirable life, Father. A life worth living and be proud of. Something which I can't say about myself," she shamefully admitted to herself and her confessor.

"Why don't you read Ephesians 4.1-16. Hopefully, it will help guide you and give you hope."

The ex-Miss Parker assented. "Yes, Father. I'll read it." It wasn't really necessary for she had a photographic memory. One of the many talents that the Red Files possessed and lusted after by the Centre.

Regardless of her talent, Maureen wanted to re-read the Bible just like Catherine used to read to her at home and at Church. In fact, the family Bible was one of the first possessions that she took out of Jar's storage locker and can be found in her room.

Pursuing a glimpse into her soul, the nameless priest asked Maureen, "Have you done anything recently that would make your friend admire you? Something worthy of his respect?"

A uncertain, "Maybe. I'm not sure." Maureen's eyes, if anyone else were inside the confessional with her would have seen hesitation and doubt coloring them.

"Why are you not sure," prodded the priest.

Licking her lips and brushing strands of hair that were already perfectly in place, the brunette replied, "I was offered a job with my mother's family foundation but the start date kept getting push back." She didn't know the reasoning and when she called and emailed asking what was the delay, all Maureen got was a standard brushoff: don't call us, we'll call you. "I think they're having second thoughts about bringing me onboard."

Her confessor heard the pain in her words. "Why would they have second thoughts? Is it because of the Centre?"

Maureen barked a harsh laugh. "It always comes back to the Centre, Father! I guess they're ashamed of me, the black sheep of the family. No, make that the terrorist bitch." The humiliation and self-hate flared up as the montage of what she stooped to in service to the Centre assailed her.

"You don't know that." The priest was troubled at her self-denigration. This was something that could lead down a path that he and the Church abhorred. Suicide. His voice stern and commanding, "You yourself said they have not given you an explanation on why your start date is delayed. Go see them in person and demand an actual answer rather than inflicting imagined excuses upon yourself."

Maureen was taken aback at the priest's forcefulness. "Do you think that's wise? I mean maybe they don't want to see me?"

"Maybe they want to see you," he parried back. "You don't know anything except you don't know when to start your new job with them. Go to them, child. Get something definite. For this situation, I want you to read Psalm 25."

"I will, Father." Maureen breathed out, knowing that he was right. She was putting off seeing Momma's family long enough for her fear of what they think of her. The fear may be real or just her imagination but the only way she'll ever find out is to see them, maybe even confront them if it came to that.

A thought popped up into the priest's mind and he voiced it aloud to Maureen. "Do you have a Bible?"

Maureen smiled, a little one at his inquiry. "Yes, Father, I do. It's my family's Bible." She became a bit jumpy as she added, "But I haven't read it since my Mother's death."

"You sounded like you intend to after agreeing to read the passages I suggested." The unseen priest was inclined to believe that she will but it was his duty to guide lost sheep like this troubled woman to the right path so he had to ask.

A strong voice answered him. "Yes, I plan on reading it again even though I have it memorized."

Maureen shifted once more upon the uncomfortable kneeler. Done repositioning herself, the brunette rubbed her forehead a couple of times as if forestalling the next sin she was about to confess. "My brother and I almost lived the story of Cain and Abel." Maureen's voice was strained. The roiling mixture of lingering hate, fear, loathing, sadness, and grief made it so.

A long silence as the priest tried to grapple with this startling announcement. This was something that he was not prepared for. Maureen's confessor exhaled heavily before he spoke again. "Let me guess, the Centre set the two of you upon each other." Whoever this woman was, the priest knew this confession would absolutely test his skills as a priest and a healer.

Maureen answered curtly. "Again, yes."

Questions frothed in the man's head wondering how two siblings could descend to such dark depths. Questions that he would now asked of the sinner. He began by humanizing Maureen's revelation. "What was your brother's name?"

"Lyle."

"How did the Centre turn the two of you against each other? And why?"

Thanks to her sessions with Dr. Tushar, after overcoming her almost instinctual hatred and fear of her own brother, Maureen was assaulted by the same questions the priest was now asking of her. Questions that after weeks then months of research, with Timmy's help and Juana Cloud Runner's influence, she can finally answer.

An explosive grunt as the brunette displayed her wrath at the Centre. "When we were born, the doctor who delivered us," Raines' cold, ugly face streaked across her mind's eye, "he told my mother that my twin brother was dead when, in fact, he was very much alive."

The priest quietly subvocalized a prayer as he knew that what he was about to hear was going to be very dark and vile.

Taking her confessor's silence as assent for her to continue, Maureen laid out what she found out and why. "The Centre, especially the man who pretended to be my father, set us against each other. They taught me to kill, to use my body as a tool, to be merciless towards our enemies. They," here, Maureen faltered as what the enormity of what the Centre did to Lyle momentarily overwhelmed her.

The priest leaned his head closer to the grille, his concern for her upping a notch. "Are you alright?" he inquired with more than a touch of anxiety coloring his tone.

"No, Father, not really," Maureen whispered as she shed a few tears for a dead brother whom she hated more than loved in her unsettled life. "You see, the Centre turned my brother into a cannibalistic sociopath who lusted after me."

The faceless priest rocked his head back as though flames were shooting forth from the sinner seated on the other side. As he fought to regain his composure, he resorted to several soothing prayers to calm his thoughts as he tried to find the comforting words and the right biblical passages to help guide this long-suffering woman.

"Are you sure about this regarding Lyle? Could it be that you were misled by the Centre?" He knew with a heavy heart that he was just grasping at straws but he had to pursue this train of thought if only to put himself at ease.

"No. There were bodies and other evidence that would have put him on death row multiple times." Buried in the post-Sears Tower disequilibrium and the drumbeat for war, the FBI, _Rachel_, state and local law enforcement found the shallow graves scattered over many states that contained Lyle's Asian victims. The cold cases suddenly hot, the mysteries solved, the sad news given to the grief stricken survivors all courtesy of the repellent DSAs that her brother recorded on showing him killing and eating those innocent terrified victims as well as the locations where he disposed of them.

The pursed white lips of the priest, if Maureen had seen them, would have been the clue to her that her confessor was at a loss for words. Another uncomfortable silence descended between them.

The priest broke it, "Lust is one of the seven deadly sins. You must have a very strong reaction when you realized what he wanted from you." _Incest._ A wave of revulsion washed through him thinking about it. That revulsion was quickly followed by a sudden appearance of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as he thought of another deadly sin. Gluttony.

Gooseflesh appeared on her arms as Maureen remembered the very first time that Lyle gave her that look other men gave her. Desire, lust, want for her body, if not her mind. Only difference was by then Lyle knew they were brother and sister and yet he didn't work very hard to conceal his unnatural need.

Maureen bobbed her head. "I was nauseous when it sunk in on what Lyle wanted. In fact, I was tempted to shoot him."

"But you didn't."

"I did," she replied, contradicting him. That night at the pier when she confronted him with that damnable smirk plastered on his face, a smirk that she loved to wipe off, holding her nine millimeter pistol ready to kill for the first time in her Centre career. "One night, I pulled the trigger on him when I saw him made a move for his gun."

_Thou shalt not kill._ The Fifth Commandment. The priest leaned back in his seat, his posture signaling a great burden as he continued to listen to Maureen's confession. To kill her own brother…

"When it sank in that you took your brother's life, what did you do, how did you felt about it?"

Maureen glanced at her wristwatch. Already over two hours and she still haven't finished her list of mortal sins. The priest was waiting for her answer. How can he understand the horror of taking another person's life, the exhilaration that she survived the showdown, the satisfaction of beating him to the shot, the agony of realization that the dark world she was entombed in became that much darker? There was only one answer that God, her Church, Jarod, and, most of all, herself expected.

Looking at the ceiling of her tiny confessional, darkened by age, Maureen licked her dry lips. "I was happy to be alive, glad that I got him before he shot me, horrified as I saw him fell into the ocean, and…" The pain and despair tinged the rest of her answer. "I lost another part of what was left of my soul to the Centre."

Something that was in the back of the priest's mind suddenly clicked. "You're seeking salvation aren't you? For you to believe that your soul needs healing from all the corruption it suffered through."

Unseen, Maureen jerkily nodded her head as yet another fresh wave of pain assaulted her with the uttering of the priest's words. "Yes, Father. I want, I need help. That's why I'm here."

The clergyman shifted forward until he was almost to the latticework. "You have realized that you are here calling out to our Lord and His Son for help. I will assist but I want you to read Roman 10.5-13 because it describes exactly why you are here in this place at this time. Next, from your crucible you will have to read Ephesians 2.1-10 for I believe that is what you have underwent before you came back to our God and our savior, Jesus Christ."

The spiritually parched woman noted the barrage of biblical passages that her confessor was throwing at her. It dawned on her that she was going to be holding her family's Bible for a protracted stretch of time. She never opened it again, not since the day her world ended in front of that elevator car, seeing her Momma lying there motionless. It was in the drawer of her nightstand now, out of sight but not out of mind.

Strangely, the thought of her family, _No_, shaking her head furiously, recalling that the rat bastard who fooled her into thinking that he was her father, wanted nothing to do with Momma's supernatural mumbo jumbo.

Closing her eyes, Maureen leaned back away from the latticework. A tide of remorse overwhelmed her as she conjured up Timmy's always curious face. Another sin. Another strike against her.

Wetting her chapped lips with a few licks from her tongue, the brunette opened her eyes again to soak in the dark, stuffy confessional. Staring through the ceiling, imagining she could see her God and His Son, showing their stern disapproval at her sins, alternating with compassion displayed on their faces as they forgave her.

Leveling her head again to speak to her anonymous confessor, Maureen told him, "I was particularly spiteful towards a man who was one of my only childhood friends but deserted when I was sent away to boarding school."

"Why were so spiteful to him? What did he do to you?" inquired of the priest, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop.

"Nothing. All he tried to do was to help me," she answered miserably, recalling the hurt and confused looks on his craggy face every time she brusquely brushed him off. "All he ever wanted to do was to help me and I didn't realize it."

A slight shake of his head was all the indicator the priest gave that he heard her. He struggled to paint the cold, callous woman she was describing to the guilt ridden woman he was working to save. "What prevented you from realizing that this man was helping you?"

The words stuck in her throat as she willed herself to get them out. "I…I…thought he was retarded." Self-anger and shame melted into one as Maureen felt the sharp sting of her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands.

"Was he? Or was it something else?"

The anger she was experiencing quickly shifted over to that bald-headed monstrosity called Raines. "Timmy was unwillingly _experimented_," spitting out the word, "upon when he was just a boy. He was never the same again."

When the nightmare that was the Centre was finally brought down by the government and the horrors that went on inside revealed, the unnamed priest like most people, were shocked and stupefied that something like it existed here in America. It was something one saw or heard happening in a far away country.

Now, uncomfortably, he was doing his best to heal and aid this mysterious woman who was an intimate participant of that abomination.

"How is he now? Is he dead?" he asked uneasily, wondering what her answer would be.

The priest's questions were like a slap to her face. Timmy's recovery and healing, courtesy of Jarod's single minded effort, was truly remarkable. But she had no hand in it. It was just those two men, one who resolutely took to the therapy and the other who wouldn't give up on his friend.

Maureen bet the priest could feel the relieved smile in her answer. "No, Timmy's quite alive and he's being treated right now for all the harm he suffered." Her love for Jarod flared anew for his care of Timmy.

He shared in her relief and grateful for some good news from a depressingly litany of mortal sins. "That is good to hear." Curiosity followed this bit of news. The priest continued, "What is your relationship now? Does he want to have anything to do with you?"

"It was rough because Timmy didn't hold back on how he felt about the way I treated him," Maureen somberly reported. "But he forgave me and we are back to where we were when we were children. Friends."

There was approval in his voice, "Good. But to reinforce this feeling and to further it, read the parable of the Good Samaritan. It is…"

"Luke 10.25-37," Maureen interrupted. During her hunt for Jarod, this parable would hover continuously in the back of her mind, and admittedly in what was left of her soul, every time she questioned the people the Pretender helped. Jarod was their hero, their knight in shiny armor. _Her hero, her knight in shiny armor as well._

"Very well," the priest said, nonplussed at her interruption. Unbeknownst to Maureen, the priest was checking the time as well. Reluctantly, he needed to end this confession very soon as other responsibilities were going to demand his attention today. "I regret that we have to end this confession very soon as I have to attend to other functions. Is there anyone else or anything you want to confess about? I can schedule you for another special confession at the earliest opportunity later on this week."

The former Centre operative's knees were screaming at her. Maureen instinctively glimpsed at her watch as soon as her confessor suggested ending her confession. Over three hours now. Just thinking about the time, she squirmed uncomfortably as her bladder was now making itself known. But she mentally willed herself to gut it out because she had to confront her undying enmity towards Raines.

"Just one more person, Father and then we can do it again later."

Her confessor nodded, relieved but wary. "Who is this person you want to confess about?"

Ever since Momma's death, anger was a facet of her persona. It was one of the first thing people noticed when they encountered her for the first time. Ever since the fall of the Centre, she subdued her anger with Dr. Tushar's psychotherapy and Jarod's and Timmy's friendship. Most of the root sources of her anger were gone now: the rat bastard, Lyle, the Centre, the Triumvirate…. But then there was William Raines.

Unconsciously, her fingers curled into fists. "A man who pretended," Maureen spat out, the hate making her growl menacingly, "to be my mother's friend but he raped her over and over and over again for years."

The unseen priest recoiled away from the screen. Mouth agape, shock engulfed him as his mind struggled to cope with what his ears just heard. "Oh my God," were the first words to tumble out of his mouth. He clutched his crucifix for reassurance and security. Never in his vocation had he dealt with something like this and he wasn't sure where to begin.

Bemusement covered the anger for the moment Maureen replied to his comment. "I don't think God had anything to do with this. Nothing at all unless I'm missing something."

Grappling with the shock and horror, he responded seriously, missing her wry undertone. "No, God would not have a part in this. It was evil, the work of the devil and the rapist." The priest leaned towards Maureen, conveying to her what he picked up from his perusing of the news and common sense. "Never think it was your mother's fault. She was an innocent, a victim of a monstrous crime."

"My mother was an innocent," agreed Maureen, white hot anger resurgent again. The urge to kill Raines had her imagining him suffering in the slowest and most painful manner possible. "She didn't deserve that."

Practical questions came to the fore as the shock subsided and clarity reasserted itself. "When was he caught by the police? What was punishment imposed by the judge in this case?"

Quiet. Maureen was quiet. Hearing those two questions made her wish that life was just and fair but it didn't turn out that way. Not for her, not for Momma, not for anyone she ever cared about.

"Why do you believe that the bastard was caught and punished, Father? Momma's rapes weren't an episode of Law and Order. He got away with it and no one knew about it except for the _man_," the urge to plant her fist in Mr. Parker's face and stomp his balls rising in her, "who covered it up."

The priest started to understand her anger now. He was starting to share it. "Then how did you found out about the rapes?"

Maureen calmed herself down, not wanting to let her rage take control of her. Staring at the screen where the priest's voice emanated from, she answered him, "Jar found the evidence and told me about it." A softening in her voice as she remembered how he comforted her and let her vent her fury on him, heedless of the violence she was inflicting on him. "He wanted to protect me from it but he knew me better than that."

"Your friend is a good man."

The brunette agreed wholeheartedly. "Yes, but I don't deserve him. I still don't but I'm glad he's there to help me."

Careful on how he was going to frame his next question, the priest said to her, "What happened to the rapist?"

"The Israelis executed him for crimes against humanity." How much she wanted to be there to see Raines swinging from the end of the rope, to be there when that bald-headed monster realized that there was no escape from justice, no powerful shadowy figures to cover up for him yet again. "Father, I wanted to kill him. It was my right to punish him."

"So you wanted revenge on this man?" inquired of the priest, disapproval evident in his question.

"Yes," dragging out the word. "For what he did to Momma, Timmy, and all of his other victims."

The priest was back on sure footing. He can understand her rage, her anger, her desire for vengeance for what this horrible man did to her mother, but he was responsible for her spiritual well being, to remind her of their Church's teachings on revenge and, most of all, justice.

"But what about justice, child? Justice will and must trump any desire you have for vengeance. He was punished, though we disapprove of capital punishment." The unseen priest wanted to remind Maureen that the rapist was caught and justice was brought down on him.

That was the correct response but Maureen didn't want to hear it. It felt so much better to take matters into her own hands and skip the damn lawyers, the sob stories, and the fucking appeals. Tricks, she learned from her prison time, other inmates used to avoid being punished and justice being meted out.

Putting her slender hands on both sides of the latticework, the hurting brunette rasped out, "That man wasn't punished for rape, Father. I know that for a fact because I researched his case. He got away with raping Momma."

She was irrational, not that he could blame her. To know that your mother was raped multiple times which led to a urgent question. "Why didn't your mother reported her rapes? Surely, the police would have helped her even in her times." He knew in the less enlightened past cops and defense lawyers would say the victims deserved it and was asking for it.

Hands still on the partition, Maureen rested her head right above the screen. She forced out her words, "She didn't know about them. That son of a bitch drugged her every time he…" She couldn't finish it but didn't have to. Her confessor can fill in the blanks.

Squeezing his eyes shut to squeeze out the revolting picture he was creating, the priest slumped in his chair. He wondered at times like this if his faith was a chimera. An illusion to hide the darkness that wandered over the land. Wearily, he looked at the latticework, guessing at what the woman on the other side look like, what she did in the world outside, what kind of life she live. He knew that the stranger, for that was what she is, was not a regular parishioner.

"Words are all I can give you. Words from God and Jesus that offer comfort and hope as you go through your ordeal. I realize that you can't change your feelings towards the rapist overnight but the fact that you are here shows me that you don't want to succumb to everlasting hate and vengeance."

Folding her hands in her lap, Maureen eked out, "Yes, Father." She was drained and the need to go home and rest very attractive now.

Sensing that it was time to close out this confession, the priest said, "For your need for vengeance against this rapist, I want you to read Psalm 94 and Romans 12.17-21. These two will provide some understanding and the path you must take."

Maureen scrunched her face as her photographic memory brought up those two biblical passages. She took some consolation that God will judge Raines but she still wanted some personal satisfaction which Raines denied her by being executed while she was rotting away in prison. She was going to have a lot of work, spiritual work on her hands. Father Moore, she thought, was going to get a lot of phone calls and visit in the days and weeks ahead.

"Okay, Father. I guess we're done now. Should I go ahead and recite the Act of Contrition?"

"Yes, please," answered the Father, slightly comforted that she still remembered what to do next.

Straightening herself, Maureen began in a soft hesitant voice but steadily gaining strength as the words she last recited as a child came forth. "O my God. I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell; but most of all because I have offended Thee, my God, who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen." By reflex, she crossed herself upon completing her prayer.

It was his turn now. The priest, in a strong tone, began. "Your sins of anger, hate, jealousy, vengeance, slavery, and cruelty are against the teachings of our God, his Son, and the Church. Yet, you showed courage," here his voice showed warmth and reassurance, "in coming to confess and admit your wrongdoings. For this, I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Maureen's body and her soul, though she wouldn't admit it, felt lighter, better, maybe a bit a more energized in spite of the fatigue she endured talking about her mortal sins. "Thank you, Father."

The priest bestowed a unseeing smile on her. He certainly empathized on what she was experiencing now. He had many penitents going through the same feelings before.

"What I want you to do know is to think more about what you confessed today so you can prevent them from happening again, work hard to become a better person in the light of your absolved sins, and seek help from our God, his Son, the Church, and other good people out there if you cannot do it yourself. Lastly, I want you to recite the following prayers: the Act of Faith, Act of Hope, Act of Charity, and Hail, Mary each night before you go to sleep until your next confession."

"I will, Father. Thank you for hearing me today." It was over until the next confession.

"You're welcome. Go in peace."

With those words of dismissal, Maureen stood up uncomfortably and left the confessional with a sense of palpable relief. A good start and another step forward to having her God and her Church back in her life.

* * *

**A/N:** This concludes my third and last chapter of my story arc exploring Miss Parker's religious upbringing. Several episodes showed her going to church, even mentioning an attempt to seduce a priest! I wanted to see the influence and the importance God and the Catholic Church had in her life.

It has been over a year since my last post but due to real life, a serious lack of motivation, and severe writer's block, I haven't completed this until now.

Special thanks to AJeff who got me off my ass and finish this chapter.

I hope you like it.

Please read and review. Thanks.

Posted on 11 July 2010.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 43

by

Starclipper01

Maureen agitatedly rocked back and forth on the leather chair. Her breaths coming in short gasps, interrupted only by her weak attempts at wiping away tears that would not stop.

Here in Jarod's darkened study is where she collapsed right after Dr. Tushar and the other man from ODNI left the house. Sitting in his chair, trying to get her eyes to focus. Trying to sear into her mind the things lying on top of his desk, mementos of a man's life. The sad and scared woman's effort clashed with a lifetime's worth of memories of them bursting forth from the recesses of her mind. _Childhood, separation, chase, punishment, loss, together._

Her hands trembled as she placed them back to wrapping around her middle as she recalled the arrival of the casualty assistance team earlier that day. The sheer utter dread and horror, followed quickly by the urgent desperate denial as she saw them coming up the walkway through the windows that she was cleaning. The pain and fear deepened as Maureen fixed her eyes on a grim looking Dr. Tushar. Her ultimate nightmare was coming to her and she was having none of it.

The two men, led by a Japanese-American who was preparing to ring the doorbell, jerked as the grief stricken woman flung the door open and started screaming at them. Maureen hurled invectives at them in all the languages she was fluent in, shouting that they were liars, insisting that Jarod was alive, demanding to know where he was, how he was. She didn't know if her neighbors heard her nor did she care if they did. All she cared about was Jarod. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

The grief-stricken woman felt her knees buckling but damn if she was going to let these cold-blooded messengers of pain and loss and the destruction of all of her dreams and hopes see her collapse before them. She held herself up with a single-mindedness that she was renowned for at the Centre.

In her tirade, Maureen took note that the two men said not one word. Her entire essence wanted them to stay that way. Irrationally, she believed that if one or both of them were to open their mouth and tell her about Jarod's fate, it would be real, she would have to accept what she want to deny above all else.

Jarod was gone.

Lost to her.

Permanent.

Forever.

Dead.

Dr. Tushar sensing her imminent emotional and physical breakdown quickly said the two words that staved off the creeping darkness. Words that she was not prepared for.

"He's alive."

* * *

"He's alive."

_He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. _

The mantra chanted inside her mind like an endless loop. Maureen kept hearing it, wanting to hear it over and over again; fearful that she would hear something else, something that would send her into a spiral from which she would not recover from nor want to.

"Jarod is alive," she choked out in a voice scratchy from the earlier screaming. "My Jarod is alive."

It slammed into her.

HE. WAS. ALIVE.

Her rocking stopped. The enormity of it made her heart beat faster and faster. Her trim body racked with tremors as she shakily stood up. Maureen sucked in air as rapidly as her lungs allowed. The only man she ever truly loved was alive…as the other words that her psychiatrist sought her attention.

"But wounded," the brunette rasped out in a choked up voice. Both shaky hands raked through her long locks of hair. Her throat tightened as unbidden images of Jarod mangled, blinded, emasculated, burned ran through her too vivid imagination. "How much more can he take?" she demanded of anyone, everyone. The silent room remained still not bothering to answer her.

Maureen ground the base of her hands into her eyes, desperately trying to rub out those scenes of a badly wounded Jarod out of her mind. But the sickening pictures scorned her attempts at erasing them.

"Stop!" begged Maureen. "Please, God, no more!" She shook her head wildly; her whole body caught up in her efforts to be rid of what her darkest fears conjured up.

The former Red File was alone, a solitary figure in the shadows fighting her demons. Time passed by as Maureen urgently reached within herself the iron will that saw her through the hell that was the Centre as she slowly arrested her rampaging fears. Jarod needed her. He needed her at her strongest. What the Pretender did not need to see was a bawling emotional wreck clamoring for his attention, taking attention away from his recovery.

Her racing heart slowed down to a semblance of normal, the panicky breaths gone, and the shaking and the tremors gripping her body barely discernible. Maureen tiredly walked around Jarod's oak desk until she stopped before it and leaned back to perch on the edge. She wished Timmy was here to comfort her and together go be with the man they both care about but he was back at the Paragon Endowment for a routine checkup. He would not be back for another two days. That was the original plan but it was going to be changed immediately once she called him with the news of Jarod's status once she got herself together. Her empathic friend, she knew, would be racing back here once they ended their call.

She let her shoulders slump as she gripped the edges of the desk. Closing her eyes, she fought to recall the rest of what Tushar told her. Getting past her emotional tempest, she vividly recalled the soft-spoken Indian, as he held her upset body upright while they both sat on the sofa in the living room, explaining that ODNI did not know the extent of Jarod's wounds just yet. But it had to have been serious, Maureen analyzed, to warrant him being medevaced out of Afghanistan enroute to a government hospital in West Virginia geared for members of the US intelligence community. The shrink went on to say that he will notify her of Jarod's arrival at the hospital but she will not be allowed to see him until after the doctors get their hands on him.

Maureen's head, which was sunk onto her chest, shot up in surprise as she remembered Tushar asking her if she wanted him to inform Jarod's family or would she rather do it herself since she was listed as the next of kin as well as having the power of attorney over the Pretender's affairs.

She let go of her white-knuckled grip on the desk as she flashed back to those stress filled days attending endless briefings and filling out then signing stack after stack of paperwork required before Jarod left for Afghanistan.

Jar's will and power of attorney grabbed her attention since he had her name listed rather than Charles, Margaret, or another member of his family. "Why, Jar?" she probed him.

Her breath caught in her throat as she swore that she saw Jarod willingly lowered his barriers. Her former quarry held her eyes with a level gaze. Her eyes widened and her world came to a standstill when he quietly but firmly told her, "I trust you." Maureen knew exactly how many times Jar told her how he trusted her. Before Sears Tower, he would never stop talking. Afterwards, a man who rationed his words, rarely spouting off or going off on different tangents. The physically scarred man did not bother to elaborate beyond those three words.

This turning point of theirs Maureen would remember for the rest of her life. It was the first time ever in their troubled lives that he trusted her with anything that was so important connected to him. She glanced down again at the paperwork that demanded her to ask him that question. The beautiful woman didn't even get the chance to ask the next question since Jarod already anticipated her. "Yes, Maureen, I trust you with my life."

The document that briefly allowed the walls to come down was Jarod's medical power of attorney. It listed Maureen's name as the person to make medical decisions, even life and death ones, if Jarod was medically incapacitated. All of her barriers were gone when she showed up on Jarod's doorsteps. By now Jarod knew what her intentions were and what she wanted out of life. Warmth spread her body as Maureen was about to ask him…

Their moment ended far too soon for Maureen's taste as a harried clerk impatiently asked her if she was done. Turning point gone she could only watch sadly as Jarod raised his damnable barricades once more then turned away from her, shutting her out again.

A copious amount of details erupted that demanded her attention forcing that memory to fade back into the woodworks. First, she had to call Margaret and Charles about Jarod being wounded in action and sent back to the States for treatment. She hoped that the number Charles gave Jar was still working. Being the sodden drunk that he was now, biting her lip in angry disappointment, he could be in a drunk cage or jailed for having sex with a minor somewhere in Europe and be unable to know about Jarod's condition. Maureen hated the idea that formed in her mind but she may have to ask for Juana Cloud Runner's help if she wasn't able to reach Charles.

Margaret, on the other hand was Momma's friend. _I hope_. The weary brunette furrowed her brows in consternation. Another puzzle piece that needed to be put in its place but haven't because of all the _Issues_ that Jarod and her have tiptoed around. Margaret, hazarding a guess, will give her the time of day to listen to her rather than hanging up or giving her an unforgettable tongue lashing.

The rest of his family was also easily reachable by phone. She also had their email accounts though she would only use them as a last resort courtesy of Jarod. News of Jarod's wounding was just not something she wanted to send out via impersonal digital means.

The problem with contacting them, she nervously chewed over, was that some of them might not want to give her enough time to inform them about Jarod's being wounded in combat before hanging up on her. Or cursing her than hanging up. Ethan and Isaac would hear her out, while the rest probably regarded her, with immense justification, as an ogre. Maureen would bet that Emily will be the most demanding of his family. That hard, no nonsense woman would be trying to figure how and why the bête noire of the Russell's knew about Jar's condition plus she was just so looking forward to the redhead's opinion of her living with the ex-Pretender once the news of that got drop on the family. The willowy woman rolled her eyes, _I'm sure that will go over very well. What did he told them about her entering his life again? _She didn't ask and he didn't tell. Something that was going have to be addressed after he was healed._ Was he ashamed of her, embarrassed to show her off to his family? _If that was the case, she groused, Jarod was going to have his ass kicked. Figuratively, of course.

But those troubling thoughts were going to have to be put aside for now. Her next immediate concern was getting her suitcases. She had packing to do and that needed to be done fast since Tushar or someone else at ODNI could call her at any minute. _Hell, Jar might already have landed_. She also had to fill up her Porsche. West Virginia wasn't too far from College Park. _Damn_, her annoyance heating up, mentally crossing off her car. Timmy was riding with her. Her car didn't have enough trunk space for their bags. She'll have to take Jarod's Lexus. She would deal with where they were going to stay in after they arrived at whatever hospital he wound up in.

Maureen opened her eyes to look around at Jarod's study. Her eyes took in the shadows cast by the streetlights coming in through the windows on his bookshelves, the items that he kept from his years on the run from her and the Centre, the pictures of him and Rachel, and on the furniture in the middle of the room. This was fast becoming her favorite room in the house. A curious part of her still wanted to see the master bedroom and that locked bedroom which Jarod had forbidden her from ever entering. But she let that bide. She trusted him and, now in turn, he trusted her. Trusted him, loved him that one day, she believed that he will allow her into those mysterious rooms and answer the riddle of why he did not want her inside them in the first place.

But back to work. She had to close and shut down the house. She didn't know how long her _friend_ would be staying in the hospital or how long she and Timmy will be gone from the house. An irritated sigh as she brought up Cloud Runner's calculating face. Maureen will have to ask the spymaster to have someone drive by the house every few days to keep an eye on the house and maybe to keep it up.

Worry tore at her. How serious was Jarod's injuries? Would it be so serious that he or she, having his power of attorney, be forced to give up his one place that provided stability and held so many memories of his attempt at a normal life with Rachel? Did Maureen have to hire help to care for and feed him?

The fears and anxieties were assaulting her mercilessly. Maureen couldn't shut them down. This was one downside of love. She was powerless to do anything right now about Jarod. In the dark about his injuries, unsure of the proper response, no way for her to nurse him back to health. Not until she reached him.

Standing up, with so many emotions and thoughts tearing through her, Maureen turned around and picked up Jarod's cellphone. Hers was lying right next to his. Tushar would call her number once Jar arrived from overseas. As she kept a close eye on her silent phone, Maureen took several calming breaths before pressing the first of many speed buttons that would once again immerse Jarod's family in pain, fear, and suffering.

"Hello?" Margaret's guarded voice called out.

"Margaret, this is…"

* * *

**A/N: **

ODNI: Office of Director of National Intelligence

Medevac: military term for (med)ical (evac)ucation from the battlefield to a hospital within the theater of operations if it's not too serious. If it is, the patient will be sent back to the US for care.

This is kind of short and did not turn out exactly like I wanted. Unfortunately, I do not have the time to polish this up since I got graduate school and 1 ½ jobs to deal with plus the other demands real life has on me.

I hope to have the next chapter up sometime early next year. For those of you who are still hanging in there by following this story, I will finish this. I hope to complete it next year (no promise though). I don't know about you but this is getting ridiculously long. :-)

Any reviews are greatly appreciated.

Posted 2 Nov 2010.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 44

by

Starclipper01

He died with a horrified look on his face. Jarod would vividly remember the haji's face in his future nightmares. The puzzlement that clearly flared up in the Afghan's disbelieving eyes as the Islamic fanatic couldn't comprehend why Jarod did not screamed out in pain as the bayonet stuck out from the infidel's left arm. The one the American lost in Chicago on that hot sticky humid summer day.

The ex-Pretender took immediate advantage of the opening his enemy gave him. In spite of his pain afflicting his bloody, traumatized body, Jarod quickly reached up and grabbed the haji. The years of dedicated combatives training showed as muscle memory automatically took over. In a series of moves, he got the haji into a chokehold. The struggling insurgent was soon rendered unconscious, then death quickly overtook him as Jarod ruthlessly continued to cut off the flow of blood to his opponent's brain and air to his lungs. It only took a few seconds to kill him.

Letting go of the body, Jarod collapsed. He had nothing left to continue the fight. He just hoped that either the hajis were repelled or, failing that, his wounds were severe enough to kill him.

He was tired. So very tired. He had no weapons within reach. Even if he did, Jarod had no energy left to get to them. Even the dead insurgent's bayonet that was sticking obscenely out of his left forearm was too much for him to pull out. Oddly enough, he was bitter that he couldn't keep his vow to not be taken prisoner.

Rachel. Maureen. The two great loves of his life. If this was truly the last moments of his life, Jarod was happy that he was finally going to join his beloved wife. Yet, sad at his lost opportunity to tell his first love what she longed to hear and for him to finally voice ever since he first laid his eyes upon the first girl he ever met in his tumultuous life. That and his now unsuppressed desire to kiss Maureen over and over for the amount of time left for him on this earth.

Jarod looked up. The sky was gray and black from the oily smoke that blew across his prone figure from all the fires and explosions that gripped the base. Coughing and with his ears still ringing from the explosion that wounded him, a part of him knowing that it was a sign of a traumatic brain injury, he let out a heavy sigh.

It was over. Before the final darkness took him away, Jarod surprised himself with his last word, "Maureen…"

* * *

His eye fluttered open unwillingly. Doubt crept through his traumatized mind. He should be dead. He had to be dead. Where was Rachel? She should be here to greet him. Where was the white light? That was what the studies always claimed. Yet, jaw tightening in confusion, he looked about him.

The fluorescent lights assaulted his lone eye aggravating the dull ache that wrapped itself inside his head. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Jarod swallowed hard several times before he got his rebellious stomach under control. Where in the hell was he?

His movements caught the attention of a shadowy figure that slowly turned into a petite female in a green flightsuit. "Hello, there. How are you feeling?"

"How come I'm not dead?" were the first words that came to Jarod's addled mind.

The Hispanic woman carefully appraised the wounded man before answering. "We got to you in time. That is as far as I know, sir. You were unconscious ever since we left Bagram."

The battle.

_Shit. _

"Larry. My God, Larry's dead!" The grief and guilt tore into him as he recalled how the wiry Laotian-American died. _It should have been me._ "My men. Are they alright?" Jarod demanded, his concern for his men's welfare overriding his fatigued and injured state. He tried to rise out of his litter bed but was firmly pressed back down by the flight nurse.

The flight nurse didn't know the status of Jarod's team and even if she did, she would not have filled him in. Her primary concern was for her patient's welfare. Concerned that he might rip open the stitches and the plethora of bandages that concealed the seriousness of his wounds, she reached into her left breast pocket and pulled out a syringe containing a sedative.

After years of these emotionally draining aeromedical evacuation flights, she already had Jarod pegged as a leader more worried about his men than himself and that to avoid any further damage to his ravaged body, he needed to be sedated. Grabbing his IV line, she inserted the syringe and carefully pressed the plunger until the dose went in.

Unable to see what she was up to, Jarod tried to catch her eye but the lighting and the fuzziness prevented it. Licking his dried lips, he asked her, "What are you doing? Where am I?"

Knowing it would take a minute or two before the sedative kicked in, the unnamed nurse answered him in order to keep him distracted, "You're on a DIA plane heading back to CONUS. We're skipping Landstuhl and heading straight to West Virginia, sir, where you'll get the best care."

"What about my men?" Jarod asked again. He never got an answer from the nurse as the sedative finally kicked in. Under the influence of the sedative, his unconscious wandered back to the unnamed FOB...

* * *

An unsettling sight befell Jarod as he laid there waiting to die on the unforgiving blood-soaked ground of Afghanistan. The former Pretender wanted to see what was going on about him but with his helmet having gained a ton in weight made him hesitate to turn his head in either direction for fear of not moving again.

Then a new sound emerged from the battlefield cacophony. A girl's voice. A voice that he always cherished.

"Live." Part command, part plea, the spectral presence whose voice it belonged to came into his field of vision.

"Faith," Jarod rasped out harshly. A coughing fit consumed him, resulting from the desert dryness of his throat to the acrid stench of explosives and gunpowder irritating his nostrils and reddening his eye, making his pain wracked body hurt some more. It wasn't the Faith he remembered. A grown up woman now, beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed with legs that rivaled Maureen's. Somber the eyes were, just exactly like what he remembered under that white tent incongruously located inside the bowels of the Centre. It was her even though the last time Faith's visage was still that of the young girl who provided him comfort and helping saved his life in the freezing unforgiving wilderness.

"Yes, Jarod, it's me," Faith answered to his unspoken question. She knelt down beside him, always maintaining eye contact. Frustration coursed through her spectral body as she could not touch him, giving her childhood friend the physical assurance of a human touch. Instead, all Faith can do was to give him words of love, comfort and support.

Jarod was convinced he was in shock, maybe even suffering from massive blood loss. Hallucinations weren't uncommon in these situations a logical part of his mind reminded him. But then, Faith was there with him in the wilderness of Montana. A mental frown as he recalled that he almost died out there in the bitter winter storm.

Jarod looked at the apparition kneeling next to him. "I'm assuming that you're not a hallucination." He saw her nod yes in reply to his question. "I'm dying, right?"

A pause before answering his question. "If you want to."

The words hung in the air between them. Jarod had a gut feeling that Faith knew the temptation that now lay before him. Now, she was making him put up or shut up on his choice.

Faith knew. Just by looking at his emotion wracked eye, Rachel's loss was still a hole that hasn't been filled in by her sister but not for lack of trying. To join Rachel and leave everyone and everything behind was irresistible. To finally lay down his burdens. But she always believed that Maureen and Jarod could love each other, cared for one another, and together find some peace in their tormented lives here in this world. It was that certainty in her two friends who were also her family that she was there. She was going to do her best to convince Jarod to fight for his life and not surrender to his inner despair. There was a woman back home that loved her former prey and was waiting anxiously for him to come home to her.

Jarod was skeptical. It was too easy even coming from Faith. "If I do, are you going to stop me?" inquired the ex-Pretender, biting his lips as he tensed up to hear her answer.

Faith twisted her fingers nervously before answering Jarod in a roundabout way with a question of her own. "What about your promise to Rachel? She was dying in your arms and all she was worried about was you taking your life after she died."

"Well, she's not here is she?" Jarod angrily shot back. He hated Faith for reminding him of Rachel's plea, the promise he reluctantly gave her. "Look at me, Faith. I'm not exactly eating a bullet by choice!"

"No," Faith bit out, "you're not. But you're also not ruling it out either." Jarod's words made Faith voice tremble with fury for what she tried to deny for quite some time now. "You finally got the Maureen that you always believed was there buried inside her. Now that she's here, you want to run away from her. What the hell are you putting my sister through, Jarod? What mind games are you playing at?"

Jarod blinked incredulously at the apparition, and then his temper took over. "I don't play mind games anymore, Faith!" he spat out. "Look at me! Look what I been fucking put through! And for your information, your sister was a goddamn bitch for years!"

Faith could only stare at the wounded warrior. This was the dark side of Jarod that was petty and cruel. Selfishness in Jarod needed an outlet to balance out all the wrongs he righted during his Pretender years and through today. But it was ugly, seeing this part of what the dead girl hope would be her future brother-in-law. However much she disliked this aspect of Jarod, she was no stranger to it either. She did watch over him ever since she moved on from that damn white tent.

Shifting her spectral body to convey how serious this conversation was turning, Faith caught Jarod's attention with her silence. Making him squirm under her judgmental eyes before she finally relented in speaking to the wounded man. "Yes, she was a bitch…and you are still an asshole."

Rage slammed through Jarod's body. Any pain he was feeling right now disappeared at Faith's pronouncement. "Who the hell do you think you are to view me like that?" The ex-Pretender's voice was cold and even. It was worse than screaming at this ghost with the temerity to tell the unvarnished truth about him and to him.

"You're future sister-in-law," declared Faith. Jarod's icy anger was rocked by Faith's words. Faith saw that and took merciless advantage of the opening he gave her. "You always wondered, Jarod, ever since you first saw Maureen, what it would be like to be her husband and father to her children. In a perfect world, the two of you would already be married with children by now. Free of nightmares and losses…"

Jarod tore his eye away from Faith as her voice trailed off. Before he broke eye contact, he saw how her last words affected her, just as they affected him, too. Spiritually, he was conflicted. He wondered if he was willing to put his heart and soul out there to be destroyed one final time. Was it worth it even if the woman in question was his first love and the subject of so many hopes and dreams? There was a yawning difference between his now-acknowledged desire to kiss Maureen and committing to a life with her.

"In a perfect world, Faith, I would never have met Maureen," Jarod pointed out wearily. "I would have lived, hopefully, a normal life totally ignorant of the Centre's existence and what it did." He closed his lone eye briefly. "A normal boring life in the suburbs, taking the kids to soccer practice, saving for college, remembering the wife's birthday, blah, blah, blah…"

Faith pursed her lips at Jarod's words. She studied his scarred face. The weariness that he didn't bother to conceal as his eye remained close. She sympathized at all the losses, tragedies, and setbacks that seemed to never stop for him. Every time it seemed he took a stride forward, the powers that be, sought to take it away from in some sort of perverse pleasure at making this man suffer again and again.

"You can have that, Jarod. Maureen is more than willing to help you become _normal_."

Jarod opened his remaining eye as he failed to wet his lips. _Was the blood loss getting worse?_ It was sorely tempting to fight to stay alive for that bewitching brunette. Maureen, Rachel. Oh, God, he despaired, torn in two directions. His desire to be Rachel warred with his desire to be with Maureen. He wanted to pound his fists in frustration.

Faith was practical when required. Feeling Jarod's open vulnerability and lack of direction, she knew that it needed to be filled by Maureen's presence. "Please help Maureen live for the first time in her life, Jarod. She needs you. She's finally willing to trust someone completely. Faith evaluated Jarod's prone form to see if he was attentive to her. Satisfied at what she saw, the ghostly presence continued pleading on Maureen's behalf. "You felt it through your connection with my sister. Are you so dense as to believe that Maureen doesn't want a normal life, too?"

The wounded government agent absorbed Faith's arguments. Studied and pondered them. Maureen's sad and barely hidden terrified blue-gray eyes as she watched him leave for a dirty, distant war. Life has not been kind to her either. But she was strong, probably the strongest woman he ever met in his life. "She made it clear I'm not her Don Quixote, Faith. I remember her telling me so many fucking times, in so many damn ways, that she didn't need my help, to stop bothering tilting at windmills. Some connection, eh?"

"Then don't be Don Quixote," shot back Faith as she wonder a bit quizzically at where Maureen brought up that analogy. "Just be Jarod, the boy she fell in love with, the man she always wanted to be with. Just be you for her. She needs you, dammit."

He fell silent, mind drifting. Thinking of the books Sydney made him read about human relationships, watching the carefully censored videos Raines and Sydney made him study about the interaction between men and women. Seeing couples on screen kissing which served to remind the young man about his first kiss with Miss Parker and bringing forth feelings that still struck him dumb and his heart all aflutter.

Faith was losing patience and time. The Powers that Be would soon make their presence known and demand that either she abandon Jarod or guide him onto his next journey.

Nudging the indecisive Jarod one last time, the blonde ghost reluctantly told him, "If you're ready, I'll take you to Rachel. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to see you." Faith's delivery was unenthusiastic and full of none-too-subtle disappointment.

Rachel. A part of him was looking forward to reuniting with his beloved wife. But that eagerness fled as Jarod recalled the other half of his promise that he made to her as she lay dying in his arms. _Every day you live is a victory for us. Please live for us._ It was his agreement that were the last words she heard from him. A harsh sob worked its way out of his dry, constricted throat. The very last words that brought comfort to her, his Rachel.

"No, Faith," he gasped out painfully, with a small pang of regret, "I'm not ready."

Catching Jarod's determined gaze, Maureen's sister fought hard to keep from jumping up and down with joy. "Are you sure? Rachel is just a cooling mangled corpse away from you," she callously opined, hoping to reinforce Jarod's decision.

"Can you send a message to Rachel?" Jarod inquired, willfully ignoring Faith's crudity.

Faith nodded watchfully. There were some things that were strictly forbidden from being passed along. She waited to see exactly what Jarod wanted to say to his wife.

There were so many things he wanted to tell Rachel but time was short as his instincts were telling him. So the ex-Pretender told an expectant ghost, "My promise still stands, Rachel, though you don't know how much I want to be with you. I love you so much and still do each day."

Faith tenderly told to the man lying on the ground, "I'll let her know, Jarod." She stopped to take one last look at one of her best and only friends before she had to head back to her side again. "Thank you, Jarod, for being there for Maureen. Now close your eye, Jarod. It's time for you to head home."

* * *

Jarod jerked up from his bed. The harsh fluorescent ceiling lights casting a harsh glow on an extremely agitated man who was looking wildly around his surroundings, desperately shouting out the one word that would enchant him for the rest of his life.

"Maureen!"

* * *

**A/N:**

Bagram: A major US base located in Bagram, Afghanistan

CONUS: Continental United States

DIA: Defense Intelligence Agency. The primary intelligence agency of the US Department of Defense.

Landstuhl: a major overseas US military hospital complex located in Landstuhl, Germany. This is where American soldiers are treated locally for their wounds or stabilized for more treatment in the US.

Well I'm back. I got a slight break between classes and some precious free time from my jobs to peck away at this chapter. Decent for a chapter that's not beta'd. I still intend to finish this story as I promised in previous chapters. There will be no set time or promises. When time allows me, I'll post a chapter. So for any remaining readers still interested in this story, I look forward to any reviews. They are appreciated. Thanks!

Posted on 4 Jan 2012.


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

Chapter 45

by

Starclipper01

Miss Parker was back with a vengeance.

Jarod's mocking smirk also decided to make its reappearance. It had been a long time since that infuriating feature appeared again, though this time it was marred by the jagged scars on his face. There was an anticipation of fireworks about to explode between this strong-willed couple, Timmy told himself as he unconsciously braced himself.

The heated glare Maureen gave her former nemesis was classic Parker. The object of their clash of wills was tightly gripped in Jarod's right hand. A bottle of craft-brewed golden lager beer. Jarod's idea of celebrating and letting off steam after finally being discharged by his doctors was downing a nice cold one.

Maureen thought otherwise however and she made it very vocal and crystal clear about her vehement disapproval about his idea of celebrating his discharge from the dreary government hospital. She made a lot of mistakes when she was much younger and wilder because of her infatuation with alcohol and other mind altering substances. Dr. Tushar reminded her that she came _that_ close to becoming an alcoholic. She still shuddered at how close she came. That was why she was so upset upon seeing Jarod holding a vivid reminder of a symbolic nail to her coffin if she had finally succumbed to the life that the late unlamented rat bastard laid out for her.

Jarod was on convalescent leave after being discharged from the secretive government hospital in West Virginia. The Robert Byrd National Intelligence Medical Center was not the most patient friendly of hospitals. Part hospital, part secured facility, all shrouded in secrecy and discretion, this was the place that he was medevaced to from Afghanistan. It was here that he would began his road to recovery from the latest wounds that he incurred in the line of duty. All he wanted right now was to enjoy a nice cold beer and to chill out for just a few precious hours before darkness fell and had to face the inevitable nightmares. Jarod was resigned to the fact that sleep was not going to happen tonight. But before that, given the fiery look Maureen was giving him, he knew that drinking his beer was not going to happen anytime soon.

Maureen wanted to knock that offending bottle of beer out of Jar's hand so badly that her right hand shook as she wound herself up for a physical confrontation. The last five weeks and some days were so compressed she couldn't even tell anybody exactly what day or time it was. Sleep was foreign to her, scaring off the irritating nurses who pestered her about visiting hours being over. Food was something other people do, not her, not when it leaving Jar's side. Memories of the pernicious wait outside the hospital perimeter as she fumed impatiently while the security guards waited for Juana Cloud Runner's go-ahead before finally allowing her and Timmy in to see Jarod; the stunned surprise by Jarod's family as they encountered their living nightmare in person in Jarod's room; Emily's raw, seething hatred expressed in the form of punching, screaming, and slapping Maureen's face and body with all the pent-up decades of fear and loathing; Ethan's loving welcome; Charles' vapid smile, alcoholic breath, bloodshot eyes and groping hands; Isaac's awkward adoration, and most of all, Margaret's sphinxlike expression and remote courtesy leaving no emotion for Maureen to decipher.

Letting out a pent-up frustrated sigh, Jarod told her once again, "Look, it's just one bottle. FYI, I don't drink like a fish." Their stare-down was just another sign of momentous changes in their personal and professional lives. Ever since that bizarre vision of him talking to a long dead friend about the utterly fascinating and infuriating woman before him, his eyes constantly straying towards her luscious lips and his hunger to kiss them and doing so much more to her shapely body. Not only that, but the most important parts of his soul that he kept walled off and with which he only shared with Rachel, he was now willing to share with her. Timmy's and Faith's lobbying and urging were beginning to pay off.

Changes in his life were not just confined to his personal side; it was also showing up in his professional side, too. It irked him how Cloud Runner declared after he fully regained consciousness that he was permanently taken off field duty. Jarod wryly reflected that he wanted to beat her to the punch by informing his superior of his decision to end his role in field operations but somehow she was always presciently ahead of him.

Maureen waged a fierce internal battle to rein in her short temper. Rather than unleashing it on some hulking sweeper or a hapless Broots, she wanted to vent her anger, worry, and love on the frail man standing defiantly before her. Jarod's wearied countenance, sunken eyes, and missing energy worried her. Each of them had too much brushes with death to laugh it off, or in Jarod's case, drinking it away.

Observing both of them, Timmy was on board the "I'm Mad at Jarod" fan club. Because of Faith's intercession with Jarod, the Powers That Be carried out their punishment on his lady for violating the no-contact with Jarod rule by forbidding her to visit Tim for an indeterminate time. The empath internally scowled knowing that meant however long they felt. He had a feeling it'll be some time before he can converse with her and be succored by her love and intimate talks.

"That's how it always began, with one bottle. Pretty soon it'll be two, then three, until you wind up choking to death on your own vomit," Maureen spat out, holding out her left hand. "Give it to me. Now."

Jarod looked at Maureen in exasperated disbelief. _Old habits die hard._ Her deeply ingrained expectations of instant obedience from Centre lackeys carried over to this latest disagreement between them. Something he resented and still resent. It was going to be addressed as their relationship progressed. But that was in the future. Now the ex-Pretender observed Maureen. Deep lines marred her beautiful face. Her flaming blue-grey eyes couldn't hide how reddened they were with shadows encircling them. There was no hiding the physical and emotional toll the woman standing before him had paid in caring for him as he recovered from his latest war wounds. Her thin frame, almost anorexic, was a stark testament that food and sleep were not on her list of top ten things to do while she was helping him get back on his feet.

There was no mistake in Timmy's mind that this confrontation was just the latest turning point for his best friends. Unspoken but it can be felt by all three that something momentous was about to happen. He silently willed both Jarod and Maureen to take the next step.

The brunette stirred uneasily. She was tired. The anger and fear at and for Jarod were there but a bone deep fatigue enveloped her as she waited for Jarod's decision. Her exhaustion was the manifestation of the terror of losing Jarod just as their relationship seemed to be moving on to something more stable with that maddening hint of progress just on the verge of realization.

Maureen's weariness ended when Jarod did something unexpected catching her and Timmy off guard. He dropped the unopened bottle on the grass and grabbed her by her upper arms. Pulling her close to him and with personal space nonexistent, she was captured by the look in his eye.

"Jarod!?" she squeaked out, startled at his action. "What the hell are you doing?" Maureen felt her heart race beat faster as she awaited his next action.

Savoring Maureen's warmth underneath his right hand, Jarod soaked in her vital presence. Something he missed after Rachel's death. Catching Timmy's eye he asked, "I need to talk to Maureen privately."

The stocky empathy gave Maureen a questioning look. She silently nodded. "Alright, Jarod." Assured that nothing extremely violent was going to happen between these two very stubborn and volatile people, Tim began heading back to the house. The couple waited, still locked in their awkward position, until they saw their friend stepped into Jarod's home.

Turning to face each other, both of them sensitive to their situation, knowing another step was about to be taken. "This isn't about the beer, Maureen. What is it that's really bothering you?" Jarod questioned her. "Is it my mom?"

While the rest of his family headed back to their lives and commitments, Margaret stayed behind to care for her son. She got a room at an extended stay hotel after turning down Jarod's offer of having her stay at his home. Her decision removed an awkward situation between his mom and Maureen. Each had different ideas of nursing Jarod back to health. Margaret made it quite clear and forcefully to her oldest son when Maureen was out of earshot how dangerous and untrustworthy Maureen was.

It was starkly different from her opinion of Rachel. She was the ideal daughter-in-law as far as the worn-out redhead was concerned. The FBI profiler was just exactly what Jarod needed as he recovered from his physical and psychic wounds that framed his tortured life. Rachel's murder was just as devastating a blow to Margaret as it was to her son. Another tragedy added to the butcher's bill for the Russell's. Not only did she lose a beloved addition to her family but the death almost destroyed her son, something that she could not and would not envisioned. She already lost so much that she, unknowingly, shared the same belief with Maureen that if Jarod were taken away from her, it was time for her to give up and just die.

Maureen found herself on the verge of panicking. The white hot anger suddenly replaced by this overwhelming fear, her heart beating to an erratic rhythm, and fleeting thoughts worked their way through her mind.

She almost lost him even though the doctors who attended to him curtly informed her that his injuries, though severe, were not life threatening. It was the idea of losing him, of the odds coming back to beat him after all the close calls he had in the past, that petrified and angered her amidst all of the other emotions whipsawing her that made her dizzy with their impact. _Damn him, _cursing Jar half-heartedly for making her realize the impact her love for him was having on her psyche and body.

"No," she whispered, the confrontational attitude gone. Her blue-gray eyes locked onto his brown eye. Jarod looked back at her and she discovered the courage to finally lay all of her cards on the table. Taking a deep shaky breath, she told him, "It's about us."

"What about us?" he inquired, dropping his arms and taking a step back. Jarod felt his heart start to beat faster and his fatigue disappearing as he mentally braced himself for whatever she was about to reveal.

In her turbulent life, Maureen was never really in control of her destiny, her fate, options that were shut off to her by the Centre. But now, looking at her true love, she understood that this moment was hers to express herself, to express what she held so tightly in her broken heart for so long.

Maureen cocked her head at Jarod, soaking him in, seeing that light that shone in his eye full of curiosity. "Is there an us, Jarod? We've changed so much, suffered so much pain, gone through so much," she noticed him stiffened at her words, "and yet…you and I are still here. Together."

Jarod shifted uneasily from one foot to another. The Ice Queen that he sought to melt for so long, so futiley was gone. He knew that when she came barging back into his gloomy life. A life that really wasn't life with Rachel's absence. Now, Maureen was helping him discover life again, to live again, and to fight off the numbing suicidal despair that clung tightly to him since Rachel's passing.

A medley of images careened through the ex-Pretender's mind: meeting Maureen for the first time, the moment she whispered her first name to him, that wondrous first kiss, chasing him in those ridiculous stiletto heels and barely there miniskirts, the fraying link between them conducted through the nightly phone calls. Jarod emitted a sigh, an admission that they did have something that just would not go away no matter how hard both tried throughout their lives. "Yes, Maureen. There is…an us."

In the years when they played the "you run, I chase" games, the Pretender would have eagerly promoted that idea especially if the then Miss Parker would finally embraced their relationship openly. But now, scourged by experience, Jarod wasn't that fully confident of Maureen's affections for him.

Relief coursed through Maureen as she realized that the distance that kept her and Jar apart, first by the Centre, the choices each made with their lives, then Rachel's ever present memory was gone. Now, it was up to her to expand on what both were now willing to unveil to each other. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you." Tears quickly formed as she half-heartedly wiped them away.

Jarod pounced forward as he quickly sought to comfort Maureen. He enfolded her in his arms. It still amazed him that in their far too few embraces that they fit perfectly together as though they were made for each other. The former Pretender gently rubbed his right hand on her back, making soothing motions. What Jarod did not do was to murmur words like "everything will be ok" or "it's alright" when he knew from his searing life experiences that they were anything but that. Further, he wasn't going to insult Maureen's intelligence by repeating those false bromides. She suffered just as much as he did and knew mere words could not and never heal all wounds.

Maureen slowly pulled back to take in his concerned look. She lifted her right hand and placed it tenderly on his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek. His arms slid down to wrap themselves around her waist as he waited for her next move.

The next move was the subject of heated fantasies and dreams, from the time puberty hit them to now. Something that both Maureen and Jarod both plotted out, brooded over and wondered when and where it would happen. But the kiss that Maureen placed on Jarod's lips was unexpected, unnerving yet felt absolutely right.

Jarod froze. His plan to eventually kiss Maureen was thrown off kilter by her unexpected move. His eye closed in surprised pleasure. Physical intimacy, and the hint of what was to come, was a shock to his body. The ex-Pretender was not intimate with anyone since Rachel's passing though there were plenty of women who made it known that they were eager to spend a night or more with him. With each woman, he turned them down.

Neither one knew how long the kiss lasted. It was not a hot, passionate lets-ripped-our-clothes off type of kiss. It was slow, tentative, even shy. But absolutely breathtaking and electric. Maureen tasted him, felt the warmth of his lips for only the second time of her life. She reluctantly released him, ending their kiss. A moan that only she could hear reverberated within her heart. She wanted more, much more, so much more.

"Maureen?" Jarod questioned her as she slowly drew away from him. He was breathless at the wonderful feelings throbbing inside him. Something that only Rachel was able to bring out in him.

She studied him. His eye was alight with a fire that she last saw before Chicago happened. Now it was there, slightly dim as though it was learning how to flare brightly again after so much darkness swamped it. It would flare and stayed there as she spoke the words that she should have said those many years ago, lifetimes ago. When a future that both believe would be theirs.

"I love you."

* * *

**A/N: **The Robert Byrd National Intelligence Medical Center does not exist. I just couldn't resist putting the late Senator Robert Byrd (D) of West Virginia into this chapter because of his well-earned notoriety of being one of the worst pork barrel politicians before his death. He brought home to West Virginia a lot of pork, some deserved, many not in my opinion.

I'm slowly finishing this story but real life is consuming my time as usual so I'll be writing at a snail's pace. Again thanks to any remaining readers for reading this. Please read and review.

Posted on 9 Sep 2012.


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